“As the gentleman wishes,” was the woman’s reply in a voice so silky and so servile that I felt my gorge rise.

“She looks like a slug!” I said to myself, as she stood there, fat and sleek and horrible.

“Here are his passport and other papers,” I said, bending down and taking them from the dead man’s pocket.  “He was an English officer, you see?” And I unfolded the little black book stamped with the Royal Arms.

She leant forward and I was all but stifled with the stale odour of the patchouli with which her faded body was drenched.

Then, making a sheaf of passport and permit, I held them in the flame of the candle.

“But we always keep them!” expostulated the hotel-keeper.

“This passport must die with the man,” I replied firmly.  “He must not be traced.  I want no awkward enquiries made, you understand.  Therefore ...” and I flung the burning mass of papers into the grate.

“Good, good!” said the German and put her lamp down on the table.  “There was a telephone message for you,” she added, “to say that der Stelze will come at eight in the morning to receive what you have brought.”

The deuce!  This was getting awkward.  Who the devil was Stelze?

“Coming at eight is he?” I said, simply for the sake of saying something.

“Jawohl!” replied Frau Schratt.  “He was here already this morning.  He was nervous, oh! very, and expected you to be here.  Already two days he is waiting here to go on.”

“So,” I said, “he is going to take ... it on with him, is he?” (I knew where he was “going on” to, well enough:  he was going to see that document safe into Germany.)

There was a malicious ring in the woman’s voice when she spoke of Stelze.  I thought I might profit by this.  So I drew her out.

“So Stelze called to-day and gave you his orders, did he?” I said, “and ... and took charge of things generally, eh?”

Her little eyes snapped viciously.

“Ach!” she said, “der Stelze is der Stelze.  He has power; he has authority; he can make and unmake men.  But I ...  I in my time have broken a dozen better men than he and yet he dares to tell Anna Schratt that ... that ...”

She raised her voice hysterically, but broke off before she could finish the sentence.  I saw she thought she had said too much.

“He won’t play that game with me,” I said.  Strength is the quality that every German, man, woman and child, respects, and strength alone.  My safety depended on my showing this ignoble creature that I received orders from no one.  “You know what he is.  One runs the risk, one takes trouble, one is successful.  Then he steps in and gathers the laurels.  No, I am not going to wait for him.”

The hotel-keeper sprang to her feet, her faded face all ravaged by the shadow of a great fear.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she said.

“I would,” I retorted.  “I’ve done my work and I’ll report to head-quarters and to no one else!”