Five minutes to seven! Still no word from the guide. The minutes ticked away. By Jove! I was going to miss the train. But I sat resolutely in my corner. I had put my trust in this man. I would trust him to the last.
Suddenly his face appeared in the window at my elbow. The door was flung open.
"Quick!" he whispered in my ear, "follow me."
"My things ..." I gasped with one foot on the foot-board of the other train. At the same moment the train began to move.
The guide pointed to the carriage into which I had clambered.
"The porter ..." I cried from the open door, thinking he had not understood me.
The guide pointed towards the carriage again, then tapped himself on the chest with a significant smile.
The next moment he had disappeared and I had not even thanked him.
The Berlin train bumped ponderously out of the station. Peering cautiously out of the carriage, I caught a glimpse of the waiter, Karl, hurrying down the platform. With him was a swarthy, massively built man who leaned heavily on a stick and limped painfully as he ran. One of his feet, I could see, was misshapen and the sweat was pouring down his face.
I would have liked to wave my hand to the pair, but I prudently drew back out of sight of the platform.