"You must have a good ear for languages," Schmalz continued; "you speak German like a German and English ..." he paused appreciably, "... like an Englishman."
I felt horribly nervous. This young man never took his eyes off me: he had been staring at me ever since I had entered the room. His manner was perfectly calm and suave.
Still I kept my end up very creditably, I think.
"And not a bad accomplishment, either," I said, smiling brightly, "if one has to visit London in war-time."
Schmalz smiled back with perfect courtesy. But he continued to stare relentlessly at me. I felt scared.
"What is Schmalz jabbering about now?" said one of the dug-outs. I translated for the benefit of the company. My résumé gave the dug-out who had spoken the opportunity for launching out on an interminable anecdote about an ulster he had bought on a holiday at Brighton. The story lasted until the white-gloved orderly came and announced that "a gentleman" was there, asking for the Herr Major.
"That'll be your man," exclaimed the Major, starting up—I noticed he made no attempt to bring the stranger in. "Come, let us go to him!"
I stood up and took my leave. Schmalz came to the door of the anteroom with us.
"You are going to Berlin?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.