“Vas iss it to look like somedings? Nodding! Also, you Sinn Fein Irish talk too much. Why iss it in Belfast you march mit drums und music? To hold our tongues und vatch vat iss we Germans learn already first! Also! Sendelbeck shall haff his letter.”
“An’ phwat d’ye mean to do with that girrl, Max?”
“Vatch her! Vy you don’d go back by dot wentilator already?”
“Me? Faith, I’m done f’r th’ evenin’, an’ I thank God I wasn’t pinched on the leads!”
“Vait I catch dot Nihla somevares,” muttered Freund, regarding his handiwork.
“Ye’ll do no dirty thrick to her? Th’ Sinn Fein will shtand f’r no burkin’, mind that!”
“Ach, wass!” grunted Freund; “iss it your business vat iss done to somebody by Ferez? If you Irish vant your rifles und machine guns, leaf it to us Germans und dond speak nonsense aboud nodding!” He leaned over and pushed a greasy electric button: “Now ve drink a glass bier. Und after, you go home und vatch dot girl some more.”
“Av Misther Barres an’ th’ yoong lady makes a holler, they’ll fire me f’r this,” snarled Soane.
“Sei ruhig, mon vieux! Nihla Quellen keeps like a mouse quiet! Und she keeps dot yoong man quiet! 162 You see! No, no! Not for Nihla to make some foolishness und publicity. French agents iss vatching for her too—l’affaire du Mot d’Ordre. She iss vat you say, ‘in Dutch’! Iss she, vielleicht, a German spy? In France they believe it. Iss she a French spy? Ach! Possibly some day; not yet! And it iss for us Germans to know always vat she iss about. Dot iss my affair, not yours, Soane.”
A heavy jowled man in a soiled apron brought two big mugs of beer and retired on felt-slippered feet.