’TheAll—Highestismerciful，asItoldyou，’hesaid。
Iagreedwithhim。
’Mercyistheprerogativeofkings，’hesaidsententiously，’butforuslesserfolksitisatrimmingwecanwelldowithout。’
Inoddedmyapproval。
’Iamnotmerciful，’hewenton，asifIneededtellingthat。’IfanymanstandsinmywayItramplethelifeoutofhim。ThatistheGermanfashion。Thatiswhathasmadeusgreat。Wedonotmakewarwithlavenderglovesandfinephrases，butwithhardsteelandhardbrains。WeGermanswillcurethegreen—sicknessoftheworld。
Thenationsriseagainstus。Pouf！Theyaresoftflesh，andfleshcannotresistiron。Theshiningploughsharewillcutitswaythroughacresofmud。’
Ihastenedtoaddthatthesewerealsomyopinions。
’Whatthehelldoyouropinionsmatter？Youareathick—headedbooroftheveld……Notbutwhat，’headded，’thereismetalinyouslowDutchmenonceweGermanshavehadtheforgingofit！’
Thewintereveningclosedin，andIsawthatwehadcomeoutofthehillsandwereinflatcountry。Sometimesabigsweepofrivershowed，and，lookingoutatonestationIsawafunnychurchwithathinglikeanonionontopofitsspire。Itmightalmosthavebeenamosque，judgingfromthepicturesIrememberedofmosques。I
wishedtoheavenIhadgivengeographymoreattentioninmytime。
Presentlywestopped，andStummledthewayout。Thetrainmusthavebeenspeciallyhaltedforhim，foritwasaone—horselittleplacewhosenameIcouldnotmakeout。Thestation—masterwaswaiting，bowingandsaluting，andoutsidewasamotor—carwithbighead—lights。Nextminutewewereslidingthroughdarkwoodswherethesnowlayfardeeperthaninthenorth。Therewasamildfrostintheair，andthetyresslippedandskiddedatthecorners。
Wehadn’tfartogo。Weclimbedalittlehillandonthetopofitstoppedatthedoorofabigblackcastle。Itlookedenormousinthewinternight，withnotalightshowinganywhereonitsfront。Thedoorwasopenedbyanoldfellowwhotookalongtimeaboutitandgotwellcursedforhisslowness。Insidetheplacewasverynobleandancient。Stummswitchedontheelectriclight，andtherewasagreathallwithblacktarnishedportraitsofmenanwomeninold—fashionedclothes，andmightyhornsofdeeronthewalls。
Thereseemedtobenosuperfluityofservants。Theoldfellowsaidthatfoodwasready，andwithoutmoreadowewentintothedining—room—anothervastchamberwithroughstonewallsabovethepanelling—andfoundsomecoldmeatsonthetablebesideabigfire。Theservantpresentlybroughtinahamomelette，andonthatandthecoldstuffwedined。Iremembertherewasnothingtodrinkbutwater。ItpuzzledmehowStummkepthisgreatbodygoingontheverymoderateamountoffoodheate。Hewasthetypeyouexpecttoswillbeerbythebucketandputawayapieinasitting。
Whenwehadfinished，herangfortheoldmanandtoldhimthatweshouldbeinthestudyfortherestoftheevening。’Youcanlockupandgotobedwhenyoulike，’hesaid，’butseeyouhavecoffeereadyatsevensharpinthemorning。’
EversinceIenteredthathouseIhadtheuncomfortablefeelingofbeinginaprison。HerewasIaloneinthisgreatplacewithafellowwhocould，andwould，wringmyneckifhewanted。Berlinandalltherestofithadseemedcomparativelyopencountry;IhadfeltthatIcouldmovefreelyandattheworstmakeaboltforit。ButhereIwastrapped，andIhadtotellmyselfeveryminutethatIwasthereasafriendandcolleague。Thefactis，IwasafraidofStumm，andIdon’tmindadmittingit。HewasanewthinginmyexperienceandIdidn’tlikeit。IfonlyhehaddrunkandguzzledabitIshouldhavebeenhappier。
Wewentupastaircasetoaroomattheendofalongcorridor。
Stummlockedthedoorbehindhimandlaidthekeyonthetable。
Thatroomtookmybreathaway，itwassounexpected。Inplaceofthegrimbarenessofdownstairsherewasaplaceallluxuryandcolourandlight。Itwasverylarge，butlowintheceiling，andthewallswerefulloflittlerecesseswithstatuesinthem。Athickgreycarpetofvelvetpilecoveredthefloor，andthechairswerelowandsoftandupholsteredlikealady’sboudoir。Apleasantfireburnedonthehearthandtherewasaflavourofscentintheair，somethinglikeincenseorburntsandalwood。AFrenchclockonthemantelpiecetoldmethatitwastenminutespasteight。Everywhereonlittletablesandincabinetswasaprofusionofknickknacks，andtherewassomebeautifulembroideryframedonscreens。Atfirstsightyouwouldhavesaiditwasawoman’sdrawing—room。
Butitwasn’t。Isoonsawthedifference。Therehadneverbeenawoman’shandinthatplace。Itwastheroomofamanwhohadapassionforfrippery，whohadapervertedtasteforsoftdelicatethings。Itwasthecomplementtohisbluffbrutality。Ibegantoseethequeerothersidetomyhost，thatevilsidewhichgossiphadspokenofasnotunknownintheGermanarmy。Theroomseemedahorriblyunwholesomeplace，andIwasmorethaneverafraidofStumm。
ThehearthrugwasawonderfuloldPersianthing，allfaintgreensandpinks。Ashestoodonithelookeduncommonlylikeabullinachina—shop。Heseemedtobaskinthecomfortofit，andsniffedlikeasatisfiedanimal。Thenhesatdownatanescritoire，unlockedadrawerandtookoutsomepapers。
’Wewillnowsettleyourbusiness，friendBrandt，’hesaid。’YouwillgotoEgyptandtheretakeyourordersfromonewhosenameandaddressareinthisenvelope。Thiscard，’andheliftedasquarepieceofgreypasteboardwithabigstampatthecornerandsomecodewordsstencilledonit，’willbeyourpassport。YouwillShowittothemanyouseek。Keepitjealously，andneveruseitsaveunderordersorinthelastnecessity。ItisyourbadgeasanaccreditedagentoftheGermanCrown。’
Itookthecardandtheenvelopeandputtheminmypocket—book。
’WheredoIgoafterEgypt？’Iasked。
’Thatremainstobeseen。ProbablyyouwillgouptheBlueNile。
Riza，themanyouwillmeet，willdirectyou。EgyptisanestofouragentswhoworkpeacefullyunderthenoseoftheEnglishSecretService。’
’Iamwilling，’Isaid。’ButhowdoIreachEgypt？’
’YouwilltravelbyHollandandLondon。Hereisyourroute，’
andhetookapaperfromhispocket。’Yourpassportsarereadyandwillbegivenyouatthefrontier。’
Thiswasaprettykettleoffish。IwastobepackedofftoCairobysea，whichwouldtakeweeks，andGodknowshowIwouldgetfromEgypttoConstantinople。Isawallmyplansfallingtopiecesaboutmyears，andjustwhenIthoughttheywereshapingnicely。
Stummmusthaveinterpretedthelookonmyfaceasfear。
’Youhavenocausetobeafraid，’hesaid。’WehavepassedthewordtotheEnglishpolicetolookoutforasuspiciousSouthAfricannamedBrandt，oneofMaritz’srebels。Itisnotdifficulttohavethatkindofahintconveyedtotheproperquarter。Butthedescriptionwillnotbeyours。YournamewillbeVanderLinden，arespectableJavamerchantgoinghometohisplantationsafteravisittohisnativeshores。Youhadbettergetyour_dossierbyheart，butIguaranteeyouwillbeaskednoquestions。WemanagethesethingswellinGermany。’
Ikeptmyeyesonthefire，whileIdidsomesavagethinking。IknewtheywouldnotletmeoutoftheirsighttilltheysawmeinHolland，and，oncethere，therewouldbenopossibilityofgettingback。WhenI
leftthishouseIwouldhavenochanceofgivingthemtheslip。AndyetI
waswellonmywaytotheEast，theDanubecouldnotbefiftymilesoff，andthatwayrantheroadtoConstantinople。Itwasafairlydesperateposition。IfItriedtogetawayStummwouldpreventme，andtheoddswerethatIwouldgotojoinPeterinsomeinfernalprison—camp。
ThosemomentsweresomeoftheworstIeverspent。Iwasabsolutelyandutterlybaffled，likearatinatrap。ThereseemednothingforitbuttogobacktoLondonandtellSirWalterthegamewasup。Andthatwasaboutasbitterasdeath。
Hesawmyfaceandlaughed。
’Doesyourheartfailyou，mylittleDutchman？YoufunktheEnglish？Iwilltellyouonethingforyourcomfort。Thereisnothingintheworldtobefearedexceptme。Fail，andyouhavecausetoshiver。Playmefalseandyouhadfarbetterneverhavebeenborn。’
Hisuglysneeringfacewascloseabovemine。Thenheputouthishandsandgrippedmyshouldersashehaddonethefirstafternoon。
IforgetifImentionedthatpartofthedamageIgotatLooswasashrapnelbulletlowdownatthebackofmyneck。Thewoundhadhealedwellenough，butIhadpainsthereonacoldday。Hisfingersfoundtheplaceandithurtlikehell。
Thereisaverynarrowlinebetweendespairandblackrage。Ihadaboutgivenupthegame，butthesuddenacheofmyshouldersgavemepurposeagain。Hemusthaveseentherageinmyeyes，forhisownbecamecruel。
’Theweaselwouldliketobite，’hecried。’Butthepoorweaselhasfounditsmaster。Standstill，vermin。Smile，lookpleasant，orI
willmakepulpofyou。Doyoudaretofrownatme？’
Ishutmyteethandsaidneveraword。IwaschokinginmythroatandcouldnothaveutteredasyllableifIhadtried。
Thenheletmego，grinninglikeanape。
Isteppedbackapaceandgavehimmyleftbetweentheeyes。
Forasecondhedidnotrealizewhathadhappened，forIdon’tsupposeanyonehaddaredtoliftahandtohimsincehewasachild。Heblinkedatmemildly。Thenhisfacegrewasredasfire。
’Godinheaven，’hesaidquietly。’Iamgoingtokillyou，’andheflunghimselfonmelikeamountain。
Iwasexpectinghimanddodgedtheattack。Iwasquitecalmnow，butprettyhelpless。Themanhadagorilla’sreachandcouldgivemeatleastacoupleofstone。Hewasn’tsofteither，butlookedashardasgranite。Iwasonlyjustfromhospitalandabsurdlyoutoftraining。Hewouldcertainlykillmeifhecould，andIsawnothingtopreventhim。
Myonlychancewastokeephimfromgettingtogrips，forhecouldhavesqueezedinmyribsintwoseconds。IfanciedIwaslighteronmylegsthanhim，andIhadagoodeye。BlackMontyatKimberleyhadtaughtmetofightabit，butthereisnoartonearthwhichcanpreventabigmaninanarrowspacefromsoonerorlatercorneringalesserone。Thatwasthedanger。
Backwardsandforwardswepaddedonthesoftcarpet。Hehadnonotionofguardinghimself，andIgotinagoodfewblows。
ThenIsawaqueerthing。EverytimeIhithimheblinkedandseemedtopause。Iguessedthereasonforthat。Hehadgonethroughlifekeepingthecrownofthecauseway，andnobodyhadeverstooduptohim。Hewasn’tacowardbyalongchalk，buthewasabully，andhadneverbeenstruckinhislife。Hewasgettingstrucknowinrealearnest，andhedidn’tlikeit。Hehadlosthisbearingsandwasgrowingasmadasahatter。
Ikepthalfaneyeontheclock。Iwashopefulnow，andwaslookingfortherightkindofchance。TheriskwasthatImighttiresoonerthanhimandbeathismercy。
ThenIlearnedatruthIhaveneverforgotten。Ifyouarefightingamanwhomeanstokillyou，hewillbeapttodownyouunlessyoumeantokillhimtoo。Stummdidnotknowanyrulestothisgame，andIforgottoallowforthat。Suddenly，whenIwaswatchinghiseyes，helaunchedamightykickatmystomach。Ifhehadgotme，thisyarnwouldhavehadanabruptending。ButbythemercyofGodIwasmovingsidewayswhenheletout，andhisheavybootjustgrazedmyleftthigh。
Itwastheplacewheremostoftheshrapnelhadlodged，andforasecondIwassickwithpainandstumbled。ThenIwasonmyfeetagainbutwithanewfeelinginmyblood。IhadtosmashStummorneversleepinmybedagain。
Igotawonderfulpowerfromthisnewcoldrageofmine。IfeltI
couldn’ttire，andIdancedroundanddottedhisfacetillitwasstreamingwithblood。Hisbulkypaddedchestwasnogoodtome，soIcouldn’ttryforthemark。
Hebegantosnortnowandhisbreathcameheavily。’Youinfernalcad，’IsaidingoodroundEnglish，’I’mgoingtoknockthestuffingoutofyou，’buthedidn’tknowwhatIwassaying。
Thenatlasthegavememychance。Hehalftrippedoveralittletableandhisfacestuckforward。Igothimonthepointofthechin，andputeveryounceofweightIpossessedbehindtheblow。Hecrumpledupinaheapandrolledover，upsettingalampandknockingabigchinajarintwo。Hishead，Iremember，layundertheescritoirefromwhichhehadtakenmypassport。
Ipickedupthekeyandunlockedthedoor。InoneofthegildedmirrorsIsmoothedmyhairandtidiedupmyclothes。MyangerhadcompletelygoneandIhadnoparticularill—willleftagainstStumm。Hewasamanofremarkablequalities，whichwouldhavebroughthimtothehighestdistinctionintheStoneAge。Butforallthatheandhiskindwerebacknumbers。
Isteppedoutoftheroom，lockedthedoorbehindme，andstartedoutonthesecondstageofmytravels。
CHAPTERSEVEN
ChristmastideEverythingdependedonwhethertheservantwasinthehall。IhadputStummtosleepforabit，butIcouldn’tflattermyselfhewouldlongbequiet，andwhenhecametohewouldkickthelockeddoortomatchwood。Imustgetoutofthehousewithoutaminute’sdelay，andifthedoorwasshutandtheoldmangonetobedIwasdone。
Imethimatthefootofthestairs，carryingacandle。
’Yourmasterwantsmetosendoffanimportanttelegram。
Whereisthenearestoffice？There’soneinthevillage，isn’tthere？’
IspokeinmybestGerman，thefirsttimeIhadusedthetonguesinceIcrossedthefrontier。
’Thevillageisfiveminutesoffatthefootoftheavenue，’hesaid。’Willyoubelong，sir？’
’I’llbebackinaquarterofanhour，’Isaid。
’Don’tlockuptillIgetin。’
Iputonmyulsterandwalkedoutintoaclearstarrynight。MybagIleftlyingonasettleinthehall。Therewasnothinginittocompromiseme，butIwishedIcouldhavegotatoothbrushandsometobaccooutofit。
Sobeganoneofthecraziestescapadesyoucanwellimagine。Icouldn’tstoptothinkofthefutureyet，butmusttakeonestepatatime。Irandowntheavenue，myfeetcrackingonthehardsnow，planninghardmyprogrammeforthenexthour。
Ifoundthevillage—halfadozenhouseswithonebiggishplacethatlookedlikeaninn。Themoonwasrising，andasIapproachedIsawthattherewassomekindofastore。Afunnylittletwo—seatedcarwaspurringbeforethedoor，andIguessedthiswasalsothetelegraphoffice。
Imarchedinandtoldmystorytoastoutwomanwithspectaclesonhernosewhowastalkingtoayoungman。
’Itistoolate，’sheshookherhead。’TheHerrBurgraveknowsthatwell。Thereisnoconnectionfromhereaftereighto’clock。IfthematterisurgentyoumustgotoSchwandorf。’
’Howfaristhat？’Iasked，lookingforsomeexcusetogetdecentlyoutoftheshop。
’Sevenmiles，’shesaid，’buthereisFranzandthepost—wagon。
Franz，youwillbegladtogivethegentlemanaseatbesideyou。’
Thesheepish—lookingyouthmutteredsomethingwhichItooktobeassent，andfinishedoffaglassofbeer。Fromhiseyesandmannerhelookedasifhewerehalfdrunk。
Ithankedthewoman，andwentouttothecar，forIwasinafevertotakeadvantageofthisunexpectedbitofluck。Icouldhearthepost—mistressenjoiningFranznottokeepthegentlemanwaiting，andpresentlyhecameoutandfloppedintothedriver’sseat。Westartedinaseriesofvoluptuouscurves，tillhiseyesgotaccustomedtothedarkness。
Atfirstwemadegoodgoingalongthestraight，broadhighwaylinedwithwoodsononesideandontheothersnowyfieldsmeltingintohaze。Thenhebegantotalk，and，ashetalked，hesloweddown。Thisbynomeanssuitedmybook，andIseriouslywonderedwhetherIshouldpitchhimoutandtakechargeofthething。Hewasobviouslyaweakling，leftbehindintheconscription，andI
couldhavedoneitwithonehand。ButbyafortunatechanceIlefthimalone。
’Thatisafinehatofyours，meinHerr，’hesaid。Hetookoffhisownbluepeakedcap，theuniform，Isuppose，ofthedriverofthepost—wagon，andlaiditonhisknee。Thenightairruffledashockoftow—colouredhair。
Thenhecalmlytookmyhatandclappeditonhishead。
’WiththisthingIshouldbeagentleman，’hesaid。
Isaidnothing，butputonhiscapandwaited。
’Thatisanobleovercoat，meinHerr，’hewenton。’Itgoeswellwiththehat。ItisthekindofgarmentIhavealwaysdesiredtoown。IntwodaysitwillbetheholyChristmas，whengiftsaregiven。WouldthatthegoodGodsentmesuchacoatasyours！’
’Youcantryitontoseehowitlooks，’Isaidgood—humouredly。
Hestoppedthecarwithajerk，andpulledoffhisbluecoat。Theexchangewassooneffected。Hewasaboutmyheight，andmyulsterfittednotsobadly。Iputonhisovercoat，whichhadabigcollarthatbuttonedroundtheneck。
Theidiotpreenedhimselflikeagirl。Drinkandvanityhadprimedhimforanyfolly。Hedrovesocarelesslyforabitthathenearlyputusintoaditch。Wepassedseveralcottagesandatthelasthesloweddown。
’Afriendofmineliveshere，’heannounced。’GertrudwouldliketoseemeinthefineclotheswhichthemostamiableHerrhasgivenme。Waitforme，Iwillnotbelong。’Andhescrambledoutofthecarandlurchedintothelittlegarden。
Itookhisplaceandmovedveryslowlyforward。Iheardthedooropenandthesoundoflaughingandloudvoices。Thenitshut，andlookingbackIsawthatmyidiothadbeenabsorbedintothedwellingofhisGertrud。Iwaitednolonger，butsentthecarforwardatitsbestspeed。
Fiveminuteslatertheinfernalthingbegantogivetrouble—anutlooseintheantiquatedsteering—gear。Iunhookedalamp，examinedit，andputthemischiefright，butIwasaquarterofanhourdoingit。ThehighwayrannowinathickforestandInoticedbranchesgoingoffnowandthentotheright。Iwasjustthinkingofturninguponeofthem，forIhadnoanxietytovisitSchwandorf，whenIheardbehindmethesoundofagreatcardrivenfuriously。
Idrewintotherightside—thankgoodnessIrememberedtheruleoftheroad—andproceededdecorously，wonderingwhatwasgoingtohappen。Icouldhearthebrakesbeingclampedonandthecarslowingdown。SuddenlyabiggreybonnetslippedpastmeandasIturnedmyheadIheardafamiliarvoice。
ItwasStumm，lookinglikesomethingthathasbeenrunover。
Hehadhisjawinasling，sothatIwonderedifIhadbrokenit，andhiseyeswerebeautifullybungedup。Itwasthatthatsavedme，thatandhisragingtemper。Thecollarofthepostman’scoatwasroundmychin，hidingmybeard，andIhadhiscappulledwelldownonmybrow。IrememberedwhatBlenkironhadsaid—thattheonlywaytodealwiththeGermanswasnakedbluff。Minewasnakedenough，foritwasallthatwaslefttome。
’WhereisthemanyoubroughtfromAndersbach？’heroared，aswellashisjawwouldallowhim。
Ipretendedtobemortallyscared，andspokeinthebestimitationIcouldmanageofthepostman’shighcrackedvoice。
’Hegotoutamileback，HerrBurgrave，’Iquavered。’HewasarudefellowwhowantedtogotoSchwandorf，andthenchangedhismind。’
’Where，youfool？SayexactlywherehegotdownorIwillwringyourneck。’
’InthewoodthissideofGertrud’scottage……onthelefthand。
Ilefthimrunningamongthetrees。’IputalltheterrorIknewintomypipe，anditwasn’tallacting。
’HemeanstheHenrichs’cottage，HerrColonel，’saidthechauffeur。
’Thismaniscourtingthedaughter。’
Stummgaveanorderandthegreatcarbacked，and，asIlookedround，Isawitturning。Thenasitgatheredspeeditshotforward，andpresentlywaslostintheshadows。Ihadgotoverthefirsthurdle。
Buttherewasnotimetobelost。Stummwouldmeetthepostmanandwouldbetearingaftermeanyminute。Itookthefirstturning，andbucketedalonganarrowwoodlandroad。Thehardgroundwouldshowveryfewtracks，Ithought，andIhopedthepursuitwouldthinkIhadgoneontoSchwandorf。Butitwouldn’tdotoriskit，andIwasdeterminedverysoontogetthecarofftheroad，leaveit，andtaketotheforest。ItookoutmywatchandcalculatedIcouldgivemyselftenminutes。
Iwasverynearlycaught。PresentlyIcameonabitofroughheath，withaslopeawayfromtheroadandhereandthereapatchofblackwhichItooktobeasandpit。OppositeoneoftheseI
slewedthecartotheedge，gotout，starteditagainandsawitpitchhead—foremostintothedarkness。Therewasasplashofwaterandthensilence。CraningoverIcouldseenothingbutmurk，andthemarksatthelipwherethewheelshadpassed。Theywouldfindmytracksindaylightbutscarcelyatthistimeofnight。
ThenIranacrosstheroadtotheforest。Iwasonlyjustintime，fortheechoesofthesplashhadhardlydiedawaywhenIheardthesoundofanothercar。Ilayflatinahollowbelowatangleofsnow—
ladenbramblesandlookedbetweenthepine—treesatthemoonlitroad。ItwasStumm’scaragainandtomyconsternationitstoppedjustalittleshortofthesandpit。
Isawanelectrictorchflashed，andStummhimselfgotoutandexaminedthetracksonthehighway。ThankGod，theywouldbestillthereforhimtofind，buthadhetriedhalfadozenyardsonhewouldhaveseenthemturntowardsthesandpit。Ifthathadhappenedhewouldhavebeatentheadjacentwoodsandmostcertainlyfoundme。Therewasathirdmaninthecar，withmyhatandcoatonhim。Thatpoordevilofapostmanhadpaiddearforhisvanity。
Theytookalongtimebeforetheystartedagain，andIwasjollywellrelievedwhentheywentscouringdowntheroad。IrandeeperintothewoodstillIfoundatrackwhich—asIjudgedfromtheskywhichIsawinaclearing—tookmenearlyduewest。Thatwasn’tthedirectionIwanted，soIboreoffatrightangles，andpresentlystruckanotherroadwhichIcrossedinahurry。AfterthatIgotentangledinsomeconfoundedkindofenclosureandhadtoclimbpalingafterpalingofroughstakesplaitedwithosiers。ThencameariseinthegroundandIwasonalowhillofpineswhichseemedtolastformiles。AllthetimeIwasgoingatagoodpace，andbeforeI
stoppedtorestIcalculatedIhadputsixmilesbetweenmeandthesandpit。
Mymindwasgettingalittlemoreactivenow;forthefirstpartofthejourneyIhadsimplystaggeredfromimpulsetoimpulse。
Theseimpulseshadbeenuncommonlucky，butIcouldn’tgoonlikethatforever。__Eksal’nplan_maak，saystheoldBoerwhenhegetsintotrouble，anditwasuptomenowtomakeaplan。
AssoonasIbegantothinkIsawthedesperatebusinessIwasinfor。HerewasI，withnothingexceptwhatIstoodupin—includingacoatandcapthatweren’tmine—aloneinmid—winterintheheartofSouthGermany。Therewasamanbehindmelookingformyblood，andsoontherewouldbeahue—and—cryformeupanddowntheland。
IhadheardthattheGermanpolicewereprettyefficient，andI
couldn’tseethatIstoodtheslimmestchance。Iftheycaughtmetheywouldshootmebeyonddoubt。Iaskedmyselfonwhatcharge，andanswered，’ForknockingaboutaGermanofficer。’Theycouldn’thavemeupforespionage，forasfarasIknewtheyhadnoevidence。
IwassimplyaDutchmanthathadgotriledandhadrunamok。Butiftheycutdownacobblerforlaughingatasecondlieutenant—whichiswhathappenedatZabern—Icalculatedthathangingwouldbetoogoodforamanthathadbrokenacolonel’sjaw。
Tomakethingsworsemyjobwasnottoescape—thoughthatwouldhavebeenhardenough—buttogettoConstantinople，morethanathousandmilesoff，andIreckonedIcouldn’tgetthereasatramp。Ihadtobesentthere，andnowIhadflungawaymychance。
IfIhadbeenaCatholicIwouldhavesaidaprayertoStTeresa，forshewouldhaveunderstoodmytroubles。
Mymotherusedtosaythatwhenyoufeltdownonyourluckitwasagoodcuretocountyourmercies。SoIsetaboutcountingmine。ThefirstwasthatIwaswellstartedonmyjourney，forI
couldn’tbeabovetwoscoremilesfromtheDanube。ThesecondwasthatIhadStumm’spass。Ididn’tseehowIcoulduseit，butthereitwas。LastlyIhadplentyofmoney—fifty—threeEnglishsovereignsandtheequivalentofthreepoundsinGermanpaperwhichIhadchangedatthehotel。AlsoIhadsquaredaccountswitholdStumm。Thatwasthebiggestmercyofall。
IthoughtI’dbettergetsomesleep，soIfoundadryishholebelowanoakrootandsqueezedmyselfintoit。ThesnowlaydeepinthesewoodsandIwassoppingwetuptotheknees。AllthesameImanagedtosleepforsomehours，andgotupandshookmyselfjustasthewinter’sdawnwasbreakingthroughthetreetops。Breakfastwasthenextthing，andImustfindsomesortofdwelling。
AlmostatonceIstruckaroad，abighighwayrunningnorthandsouth。Itrottedalonginthebittermorningtogetmycirculationstarted，andpresentlyIbegantofeelalittlebetter。InalittleIsawachurchspire，whichmeantavillage。Stummwouldn’tbelikelytohavegotonmytracksyet，Icalculated，buttherewasalwaysthechancethathehadwarnedallthevillagesroundbytelephoneandthattheymightbeonthelook—outforme。Butthatriskhadtobetaken，forImusthavefood。
itwasthedaybeforeChristmas，Iremembered，andpeoplewouldbeholidaying。Thevillagewasquiteabigplace，butatthishour—justaftereighto’clock—therewasnobodyinthestreetexceptawanderingdog。IchosethemostunassumingshopIcouldfind，wherealittleboywastakingdowntheshutters—oneofthosegeneralstoreswheretheyselleverything。Theboyfetchedaveryoldwoman，whohobbledinfromtheback，fittingonherspectacles。
’GrussGott，’shesaidinafriendlyvoice，andItookoffmycap。I
sawfrommyreflectioninasaucepanthatIlookedmoderatelyrespectableinspiteofmynightinthewoods。
ItoldherthestoryofhowIwaswalkingfromSchwandorftoseemymotheratanimaginaryplacecalledjudenfeld，bankingontheignoranceofvillagersaboutanyplacefivemilesfromtheirhomes。Isaidmyluggagehadgoneastray，andIhadn’ttimetowaitforit，sincemyleavewasshort。Theoldladywassympatheticandunsuspecting。Shesoldmeapoundofchocolate，aboxofbiscuits，thebetterpartofaham，twotinsofsardinesandarucksacktocarrythem。Ialsoboughtsomesoap，acombandacheaprazor，andasmallTourists’Guide，publishedbyaLeipzigfirm。AsIwasleavingIsawwhatseemedlikegarmentshangingupinthebackshop，andturnedtohavealookatthem。TheywerethekindofthingthatGermanswearontheirsummerwalkingtours—longshootingcapesmadeofagreenstufftheycallloden。Iboughtone，andagreenfelthatandanalpenstocktokeepitcompany。ThenwishingtheoldwomanandherbelongingsamerryChristmas，I
departedandtooktheshortestcutoutofthevillage。Therewereoneortwopeopleaboutnow，buttheydidnotseemtonoticeme。
IwentintothewoodsagainandwalkedfortwomilestillI
haltedforbreakfast。Iwasnotfeelingquitesofitnow，andIdidnotmakemuchofmyprovisions，beyondeatingabiscuitandsomechocolate。Ifeltverythirstyandlongedforhottea。InanicypoolI
washedandwithinfiniteagonyshavedmybeard。Thatrazorwastheworstofitsspecies，andmyeyeswererunningallthetimewiththepainoftheoperation。ThenItookoffthepostman’scoatandcap，andburiedthembelowsomebushes。Iwasnowaclean—shavenGermanpedestrianwithagreencapeandhat，andanabsurdwalking—stickwithaniron—shodend—thesortofpersonwhoroamsinthousandsovertheFatherlandinsummer，butisararishbirdinmid—winter。
TheTourists’Guidewasafortunatepurchase，foritcontainedabigmapofBavariawhichgavememybearings。IwascertainlynotfortymilesfromtheDanube—morelikethirty。TheroadthroughthevillageIhadleftwouldhavetakenmetoit。IhadonlytowalkduesouthandIwouldreachitbeforenight。SofarasIcouldmakeouttherewerelongtonguesofforestrunningdowntotheriver，andIresolvedtokeeptothewoodlands。AttheworstIwouldmeetaforesterortwo，andIhadagoodenoughstoryforthem。