While having tea he bought an early evening edition of a paper. In it he found a small paragraph briefly reporting that four German naval officers had broken out of Stresdale Camp, but neither names nor descriptions were given.
The meal over, von Loringhoven claimed his cycle and walked to the south-western suburbs, engaging a bed at a modest hotel in Selly Oak. If questioned he had decided to tell a plausible tale that he was on his way to take up a job on a farm near Hereford, but to his satisfaction he was merely asked to perform the perfunctory task of filling in a registration form, the particulars on which were received without comment.
The fugitive spent the evening in the commercial room in the company of three "knights of the road." He was too dead beat to go out, while he could not retire to bed so early without the risk of causing undue attention.
Presently the boots brought in a late special, which one of the commercials promptly appropriated.
"I see they've collared three of those Huns who broke out of Stresdale," he remarked suddenly.
Von Loringhoven pricked up his ears, but maintained silence.
"That's good news," rejoined another commercial. "Any details?"
"Only a few," was the answer. "An interview with a special constable who arrested one of them reads rather funny. He challenged a suspicious-looking character, who replied, 'Morry, sate, I deaf am,' which gave the special sufficient justification for arresting the man."
"Just the foolish thing Müller would do," mused von Loringhoven. "And after all the pains I took to knock the simple phrase into his thick Bavarian skull. I should not wonder if he's tried his level best to give me away—unthinkingly, of course."
"And the fourth?" inquired one of the company.