"Friends?" Malone said.
Brubitsch nodded. "We drank together, talked, played chess. Garbitsch is the best chess player in the group. I am not very good. But once we had some trouble." He paused. "We had been drinking Russian liquors. They are very strong. We decided to uphold the honor of our country."
"I think," Malone murmured sadly, "I know what's coming."
"Ah?" Brubitsch said, interested. "At any rate, we decided to honor our country in song. And a policeman came and talked to us. He took us down to the police station."
"Why?" Boyd said.
"He was suspicious," Brubitsch said. "We were singing the Internationale, and he was suspicious. It is unreasonable."
"Oh, I don't know," Boyd said. "What happened then?"
"He took us to the police station," Brubitsch said, "and then after a little while he let us go. I do not understand this."
"It's all right," Malone said. "I do." He drew Boyd aside for a second, and whispered to him: "The cops were ready to charge these three clowns with everything in the book. We had a time springing them so we could go on watching them. I remember the stir-up, though I never did know their names until now."
Boyd nodded, and they returned to Brubitsch, who was staring up at them with surly eyes.