The trooper had drifted out of earshot. I could see him, immobile as a statue, standing at the end of the corridor. Except for him and us, the passage was deserted.
Again the elderly man spoke and his voice betrayed his anxiety.
"Who are you?" he asked almost in a whisper. "What have you done with Grundt? Why has he not come?"
Boldly I took the plunge.
"I am Semlin," I said.
"Semlin," echoed the other, "—ah yes! the Embassy in Washington wrote about you—but Grundt was to have come...."
"Listen," I said, "Grundt could not come. We had to separate and he sent me on ahead...."
"But ... but ..."—the man was stammering now in his anxiety—"... you succeeded?"
I nodded.
He heaved a sigh of relief.