"Gerade so," said Dugan, "and Glottwitz himself used to call me his prize Dummkopf…"
Hundeshausen laughed happily as he turned into a room which had the number 32 painted on it in clear luminous letters. Dugan steered him in. The walls reeled and waved peculiarly. Dugan at first thought that it was a silent earthquake or the oncoming of an end-for-me atomic explosion. Then he realized that it was nothing more than his own fatigue catching up with him. It was, he saw from a clock on the shelf, 2:20 A.M. And this was May Day.
As they entered Hundeshausen's room, Dugan glanced back swiftly and casually. The tall Cossack stood in the corridor, looking at them. Dugan shoved Hundeshausen on into the room.
He did not want the German to go to sleep yet, not until he had been milked for his contribution of information. He asked the man where his nightshirt was and received a wild incredulous guffaw from the drunk:
"Nightshirt! Ha! Where do you think you are? Back in the old Reich?" Hundeshausen had automatically reverted to German.
Dugan said, "All right. You want to sleep naked, or in your underwear?"
"Underclothing, of course. Don't you know it's cold here? I haven't seen you before. You must be one of the new batch. You're a filthy Nazi, that's what you are! I have been in the land of freedom for eighteen years and look what it's got me. A lot of disgusting stuck-up Prussian Nazi swine for my honorable colleagues. Go away. I don't want you around."
"I'm not a Nazi," said Dugan.
"Who are you, then?"
"My name is Schieffelin," said Dugan, "and I am a Swiss scientist."