"Four-two-four. Oh, what a fright you gave me. What is your name?"
"That is against regulations."
"I know. What is it, all the same…. Mine is Helsa Kampf."
"Mine is Johann Wolkcer."
"Wolkcer? Is it Polish?"
"God knows where we Germans had our origin. … Who are your companions, Fraulein?"
"An Irish-American. Jim Macniff, and a British revolutionist, Harry Skelton. Others await us on Mount Terrible—Germans in Swiss uniforms."
"You'd better keep an eye on Macniff and Skelton," grumbled Recklow.
"No; they're to be trusted. We nearly caught McKay and the Erith girl in Scotland; they killed four of our people and hurt two others…. Listen, comrade Wolkcer, if a trodden path ascends Mount Terrible, as Skelton pretended, you and I had better look for it. Can you find your way back to where we crossed the wire? The dry bed of the torrent was to have guided us."
"I know a quicker way," said Recklow. "Come on."