If I had been less weary—­I have often thought since—­I would have got up and fled from the cafe rather than have countenanced any such mad proposal.  But I was drunk with sleep heaviness and I snatched at this chance of getting a good night’s rest, for I felt that, under the aegis of this young officer, I could count on any passport difficulties at the hotel being postponed until morning.  By that time, I meant to be out of the hotel and away on my investigations.

So I accepted Schmalz’s suggestion.

“By the way,” I said, “I have no luggage.  My bag got mislaid somehow at the station and I don’t really feel up to going after it to-night.”

“I will fix you up,” the other replied promptly, “and with pyjamas in the American fashion.  By the by,” he added, lowering his voice, “I thought it better to speak German.  English is not heard gladly in Berlin just now.”

“I quite understand,” I said.  Then, to change the subject, which I did not like particularly, I added: 

“Surely, you have been very quick in coming down from the frontier.  Did you come by train?”

“Oh, no!” he answered.  “I found that the car in which you drove to the station ... it belonged to the gentleman who came to meet you, you know ... was being sent back to Berlin by road, so I got the driver to give me a lift.”

He said this quite airily, with his usual tone of candour.  But for a moment I regretted my decision to go to the Esplanade with him.  What if he knew more than he seemed to know?

I dismissed the suspicion from my mind.

“Bah!” I said to myself, “you are getting jumpy.  Besides, it is too late to turn back now!”

We had a friendly wrangle as to who should pay for the drinks, and it ended in my paying.  Then, after a long wait, we managed to get a cab, an antique-looking “growler” driven by an octogenarian in a coat of many capes, and drove to the Esplanade.

It was a regular palace of a place, with a splendid vestibule with walls and pavement of different-hued marbles, with palm trees over-shadowing a little fountain tinkling in a jade basin, with servants in gaudy liveries.  The reception clerk overwhelmed me with the cordiality of his welcome to my companion and “the American gentleman,” and after a certain amount of coquettish protestations about the difficulty of providing accommodation, allotted us a double suite on the entresol, consisting of two bedrooms with a common sitting-room and bathroom.

In his immaculate evening dress, he was a Beau Brummell among hotel clerks, that man.  The luggage of the American gentleman should be fetched in the morning.  The gentleman’s papers?  There was no hurry:  the Herr Leutnant would explain to his friend the forms that had to be filled in:  they could be given to the waiter in the morning.  Would the gentlemen take anything before retiring?  A whisky-soda—­ah! whisky was getting scarce.  No?  Nothing?  He had the honour to wish the gentlemen pleasant repose.