The police-bureau was far away, but the distance was nothing to these healthy young people.

They progressed at a smart pace and in less than twenty minutes they arrived.  It was Gretchen who drew back fearfully.

“After all, will it not be foolish?” she suggested.

“They will be searching for me,” he answered.

“It will be easier if I present myself.  It will bear testimony that I am innocent of any wrong.”

“I will go in with you,” determinedly.

The police officer, or, to be more particular, the sub-chief of the bureau, received them with ill-concealed surprise.

“I have learned that you are seeking me,” said the vintner, taking off his cap.  His yellow curls waved about his forehead in moist profusion.

Immediately the sub-chief did not know what to say.  This was out of the ordinary, conspicuously so.  There was little precedent by which to act in a case like this.  So in order to appear that nothing could destroy his official poise, he let the two stand before his desk while he sorted some papers.

“You are not a native of Dreiberg,” he began.

“No, Herr; I am from Bavaria.  If you will look into your records you will find that my papers were presented two or three weeks ago.”

“Let me see them.”

The vintner’s passports were produced.  The sub-chief compared them to the corresponding number in his book.  There was nothing wrong about them.

“I do not recollect seeing you here before.”

“It was one of your assistants who originally went over the papers.”

“What is your business?”

“I am a vintner by trade, Herr.”

“And are there not plenty of vineyards in Bavaria?”

“We vintners,” with an easy gesture, “are of a roving disposition.  I have been all along the Rhine and the Moselle.  I prefer grapes to hops.”

“But why Dreiberg?  The best vineyards are south.”

“Who can say where we shall go next?  Dreiberg seemed good enough for me,” with a shy glance at Gretchen.

“Why did you jump out of the window?”

“I was frightened at first, Herr.  I did not know that you merely dispersed meetings.  I believed that we were all to be arrested.  Such measures are in force in Munich.”

“You accused him of being a Jugendheit spy,” broke in Gretchen, who was growing impatient under these questions, which seemed to go nowhere in particular.

“You be silent,” warned the sub-chief.

“I am here because of that accusation,” said the vintner.

“What have you to say?”

“I deny it.”

“That is easy to do.  But can you prove it?”

“It is for you to prove, Herr.”

“Read this.”

It was the cutting.  The vintner read it, his brows drawn together in a puzzled frown.  He turned the slip over carelessly.  The sub-chief’s eyes bored into him like gimlets.