 CHAPTER 10 She awoke in morning sunshine to the prattle of children. Two little mites were peeping at her from behind the granite boulder. When she opened her eyes they shrank back like frightened mice. Miss Pym sat up and called to them, smiling, letting down her still abundant hair, which she brushed vigorously. This homely act proved reassuring. The two very young children crept doubtfully towards her, and sat down solemnly at a safe distance to watch the strange woman doing her toilet in the woods. The elder girl, about six years of age, carried a patchwork bag in which rattled a few egg corns, and some thin white roots, which she drew out and commenced gnawing. Miss Pym noted the unhealthy pallor of their skin, the emaciation of legs and arms. This was starvation indeed. She brought out a packet of chocolate from her bag and held out two pieces. The children shrank back. Chocolate, said Miss Pym, chocolate for dear little girls. They wriggled a little nearer. Is it good to eat, whispered the elder girl? Again Miss Pym felt a shock. These little ones were too young to remember pre-war days, when French children ate chocolate. Yes, this is very good. Gouté persisted, Miss Pym. Two claw-like dirty little hands were put up, then as suddenly drawn back. No, no, it is poison, said the elder girl. Jeanette, you must not take it. Miss Pym was horrified. Oh, you poor children, how can you even think of such a thing, she cried. The wicked Bosch dropped poisoned bomb-bonds from aeroplanes, replied the elder child gravely. Mother says, we must never eat what they give us. But I am not German. I am English. We love little children. And we are coming to save all the mothers and fathers and children here. The little girls looked wise and doubtful. But when they saw Miss Pym eating, they again put out their hands. This time the chocolate found its way to the baby mouths. But again the elder sister put up a warning hand. Jeanette, give me that ghetto, she said gravely. Miss Pym began to feel indignant. Your little sister is hungry. Let her eat. It is very good. It is very good. And I am hungry, said the might, giving up the chocolate to her sister, Marta. Why do you take it from poor little Jeanette, asked Miss Pym almost tearfully. Mama is hungry, and Petit Frère is hungry, said Marta, with a little twist of the mouth, as of repressed grief. Oh, you poor dear little things, eat what you have, and I will give you the rest of this packet, and some money for your mother. In happy confidence the children now sat quite close to Miss Pym. They stroked her dress, and Jeanette even kissed the bag which had carried that wonderful chocolate. The Bosch, all wicked and cruel, asked Miss Pym, There are very bad people, said Marta emphatically. They like breaking things, and burning things. They hurt people and laugh. Little Jeanette, licking her fingers carefully repeated, they hurt people and laugh. They like to make little children cry, continued Marta, because children cannot strike back. They killed Madame V. Bouchon, because she struck a Bosch. Little children cannot strike. But I could bite, said we Jeanette, opening her mouth wide and showing her little white teeth. Petit Henri bit the Bosch who killed their dog Azor. T'et toi, you mustn't bite the Germans. But run, run and hide when you see them. They like killing little children. Oh, long ago, when I was young, when they first came here, mother says they killed babies no bigger than Petit Frère. Mother says that is better than taking them away. They have taken away Marie Dupont, a big girl, and Anne-Marie Dumas, chimed in Jeanette. Yes, and Nicolette Léois, they took them away, away from their mamas. They cried, oh, how they cried, and the Bosch laughed. Madame, they are very wicked people. If they see you, they will kill you. Yes, re-echoed Jeanette, licking the paper the chocolate had been wrapped in. Yes, they will kill you, and then they will laugh and sing. If Madame has nothing more to give us, we will go back to mama, said Marta sedately. The chocolate and the money were fastened in some recess of Marta's ragged bodice, with a crooked pin, and very softly the two little girls slipped away behind the granite boulder. Miss Pym turned back to her bag. She replaced her hairbrush, and then fastened her rucksack to her shoulders. A shadow fell across the rock. Looking up, she saw a huge German soldier. Ah, zo! he exclaimed. Here was a prize, a spy, a woman, unarmed. What a chance for Hans! What a story to tell! Perhaps a reward, and perhaps even promotion. He looked at Miss Pym very much as a Bengal tiger would look at a tethered kid, and Purtita, for a moment, lost her head completely. She looked round. Where could she fly? Would the man shoot? Hans was enjoying himself immensely. He liked to see that hunted, terrified look in a woman's eyes. He did not want to shoot her, though he might bayonet her if she gave trouble. But he much preferred her alive. She was his lawful prey, to drag before his colonel, as a retriever might bring a partridge. Still, there was no reason why he should not get some fun before handing her over. Miss Pym was seated on the ground. The man stood, arms akimbo, leering down at her. He touched her with his big boot. She shrank back. He turned her bag over with the toe of his boot. She snatched it up. There is money in the bag, thought Hans. And that I shall keep. Here, hand over the bag, and the sack on your shoulders, cried Hans. It was fun to see his victim press herself against the stone. Pymel, how easy it would be to run her through. Perhaps if she had money, that would be best. Run her through the body, and leave her there. Whilst these thoughts took shape in his slow working brain, Miss Pym, recovering herself, bent her head back and disappeared, but remained immovably pressed against the boulder, staring up at the blank face of Hans, who glared at her with unseeing eyes. Where she had been was a blur, but his prey, his victim, his fortune had disappeared. He shook himself like a bull, the veins of his throat swelled, and he gave the raucous cry of a baffled brute, dashing round the rock with bayonet fixed. He ran here and there, quite maddened by disappointment. Then he called comrades, and soon five or six soldiers were beating the wood. Miss Pym rose, and as gently as she could, made her way out of the wood, leaving Monsieur Le Courage's large pillow and down quilt under the chestnut tree. When she remembered, she really felt too nervous to return and restore them to their owner. Quickly Miss Pym sped away from the village of Jusse Le Duc. Her object was to reach Valenciennes and thence through Belgium into Germany, but how she was to get anywhere was the problem. A walking tour through Belgium and Germany was not in the programme. It would involve great fatigue and privations, and be valueless from a military point of view. Just at this point Miss Pym's thoughts were centred on hot coffee, so long as she remained in France and Belgium, food would be difficult to obtain, since she could not bring herself to take so much as a mouthful from the people of the country. It looks as though I must always join the officer's mess, thought Miss Pym with a sigh, and it was at headquarters she must glean information and carry off maps and documents. The sun was now high overhead, the roads were inches deep in dust, for the heavy traffic had quite broken up the metal of the roads. Miss Pym looked anxiously about. The road was so very long, and there was no sign of an inn. At last she came up with a military wagon. The driver had got down to adjust a chain on the wheel, preparatory to a steep descent. Miss Pym caught hold of a rope, and with great difficulty hauled herself into the wagon, which was packed with cases. A good many men lay sleeping on the boxes, and grunted as Miss Pym scrambled over them to an unoccupied corner. There she opened her bag and spread some potted meat on a stale roll. It was not a satisfying meal, and the wagon bumped painfully. But the cover was some protection from the sun, and the food restored her. Two young soldiers were talking of the war. Small men, with a broad, slov type of head, gentle looking animals, with mild blue eyes. They talked of the fighting on the British front in tremulous gutterls. They are terrible, those soldiers. They give you no rest. They kill you everywhere, underground, overhead, all round. There is no escape. I tried to get over to those British devils. I hear they feed you well, and are kind. And you need not work or fight any more. Ah, I hope next time to be taken. Some of our boys shot their captain, and got across to the British, said the other young soldier. It seems the only thing to do, said the first, pensively. Otherwise we are bound to end in the corpse-fat factory. I don't know when I shall marry Laina, he continued. We have been betroved, three years or more. Are you betroved? Yes, to a girl at Charlottenburg. I have not been engaged so long as you. I fixed it up when I was last home, wounded. See, I have her picture. She has sweet eyes, appealing eyes, like a girl I had de baenette in France in 1914. I did not mind killing the father or the mother, but she had such appealing eyes. I suffered when I ran her through. So you are betroved to this girl as a sort of reparation, said the other, laughing. Well, something of the sort, said the young German, kissing the photograph before he replaced it in an inner pocket. Miss Pym shuttered her sense of repulsion for these savage brutes, caused her a sense of physical nausea. Decidedly, she must frighten them off the wagon. So leaning forward in their direction, she said slowly and clearly, in German, You killed my father, you killed my mother, and then you killed me. Shall you escape punishment, wide-eyed with terror? The young soldiers looked at each other. Did you hear that voice? Yes, I heard the girl. It was the girl you killed. She spoke, and I say no, shouted the other, white as chalk. It was the bolt on the wheel you heard. You killed my father, you killed my mother, and then you killed me. We had never harmed you. We were helpless, cried Miss Pym, her voice shaking with emotion. The two men waited for no more, tumbling over their companions. They hurled themselves out onto the road, and the last Miss Pym saw of them was sitting up in the white dust, staring at the receding wagon. CHAPTER XII The heat and dust were trying. The hood over the cart kept away the air, and Miss Pym was very uncomfortably placed between two cases, which jolted about on the floor of the wagon. She determined to get out at the first stopping-place, and o'beirage with a tonnell, that is to say a little arbor of vines, where four German officers sat at dinner, a very ample dinner, judging by their cheerful red faces as they parted the greenery and looked out. Miss Pym did not hesitate. She walked round to the entrance of the bower and examined the dishes. A pile of spotted trout had been devoured. Washed down by the best of white wine. I must wait for the next course, she said to herself, but white bread and wine are not to be despised. So she reached forward and snatched up a bottle and a hunch of bread. The men looked round, momentarily puzzled, and then resumed their conversation. Soon the poor old innkeeper returned with a dish of omelette au ronion. The officers, delighted, forced him to drink a glass of his own wine, and then proceeded to portion out the omelette. Miss Pym watched her opportunity. Seized one of the plates, which she carried off to a low wall, where she sat with the bread under one arm, the bottle of wine under the other, and the plate on her lap. Because of course, anything she was not touching became visible. Much revived by the food and wine, she determined to wait for some more comfortable vehicle to take her to Valenciennes. At last the Germans came out of the vine-arbor, straightening their uniforms and resuming their military scowls. Profoundly bowing, two of them went off, followed by Miss Pym, who saw them start in a small two-seated motor-car. Their luggage tied on at the back. No possibility of a lift, thought Miss Pym, and besides they were soon whirling off in a cloud of dust, back the same weary way she had traveled that morning. The other officers were older and more important looking. Perhaps they would have a car with four seats. Going into a shed, Miss Pym saw a fine Mercedes with six seats. No sooner had she climbed into the back than the officers strolled up, smoking. Followed by the innkeeper, lugging a hamper, Miss Pym could hear the bottles clinking together, the whole contents of the poor man's little cellar. Miss Pym could see his wife crying at the back door, as the big basket was lifted onto the seat beside her, and fastened by a rope to the back rail. The officers jumped in, and soon to her relief. She was speeding along to Valencien. The food, wine, and fresh air soon sent her to sleep, a deep refreshing sleep from which she was rudely awakened by a violent shaking. Gracious, what is the matter, she cried, putting up her hand to save her hat. Angry voices and excited German officers crowded round the car, made it clear that she was discovered. Sleep and the jolting of the car at high speed had restored Miss Pym's visibility. Have we reached Valencien? She asked sleepily. There, now, I told you she was an Englishwoman. She is a spy. That certain, cried a young German with whitish hair, and the complexion of a pink ivy geranium. Shoot her in the car. What, make a mess in my new car? Never, cried the captain, laughing. We'll have the woman safely locked up and handed over to the Colonel when he arrives this evening. Two of you fellows jump in and hold her, one on each side. In half an hour we shall be in Valencien. Miss Pym was not unduly alarmed, but she blamed herself for carelessness. To have allowed herself to succumb to sleep in such circumstances was culpable folly. Her handbag and her rucksack had been taken from her, and she was held in a ferocious grip, but confident of ultimate escape. She was able to smile at the excited young officers. Don't be afraid. I have no intention of escaping here. You hurt my arms quite needlessly. Does she say, ask the white-haired youth, his eyes bulging with excitement? I said you need not be so frightened, replied Miss Pym in German, smiling. You are an English spy. Confess, cried the young man. Miss Pym turned to the other officer, who understood English, and said, When my belongings have been examined, will they be returned to me? You will not require them, he replied sourly. After the Colonel has questioned you, you will require nothing. Dear me, how obliging your Colonel must be! Do you think he would lend me a car and a chauffeur? This car would do to take me to Berlin. To Berlin, lend you a car, to take you to Berlin, spluttered the officer in amazement. What for? Why were you attempting to visit our capital? I wanted to interview the Kaiser, and Hindenburg. I wanted to, to look round. What does she say, Heinrich? What does the mad English woman say? Ask the pink youth eagerly. Oh, nothing much. She merely intends to interview the all-highest, and von Hindenburg. Yes, and the crown prince, interposed Miss Pym. Oh, you English, murmured the captain. It really is impossible to understand such a people. I suppose it is your climate. You are not serious. You think only of sport and enjoyment. You grew tired of hunting foxes, so you determined to annihilate Germans for sport. That explains your reason for assassinating the Austrian crown prince. It is all England's brutal egoism. So you have never visited England, though you speak excellent English, remarked Miss Pym still smiling. The captain eagerly assured her that he had lived with an English family for six months. When I was twenty, I went to perfect by knowledge of the language. I stayed with a family called Johnson, near Basingstoke. A very nice family. There was Miss Alice Johnson. Oh, she was beautiful. And Edward her brother, a great cricketer. I used to play. We had matches. The captain's face lit up at his recollection of the Johnson family. And they treated you well? Yes, it was a happy time. I liked the English then, but I was young and impressionable. Besides, I did not then realize the base calculating spirit, which is dominant in England. They could not endure to see German strength, industry, and prosperity. So they attacked us, a peace-loving people, hoping to destroy us and gain the dominion of the world. But why am I wasting my words on you, miserable woman, fated to die this day? But you will allow that I am courageous, said Miss Pym Sweetly. The German captain looked at her steadily. Then with some reluctance, he admitted that the British did not lack courage. But it will avail you nothing with our colonel. Indeed I am sorry that you are to be handed over to him. Our colonel can be terrible, especially after he has had much to drink. I don't believe in pity myself. I resist sentimental weakness. Our demand's rightfulness continued the captain. It is necessary to have no scruples, but the colonel. Ah, captain, I think you are better than your talk. And I believe you are just a little bit sorry for me, said Miss Pym, laughing. The German captain looked uncomfortable. I am sorry, because Colonel von Schlange is ruthless and very cruel. You do not deny that you are a spy, and you ought, of course, to die. But I dislike torturing women. If the colonel shoots you before supper, that will be all right. But after supper he would amuse himself first by torturing you, and I shall have to be present. No, I cannot at the bottom of my heart approve of torture. Miss Pym felt a shiver play over her. Captain, tell me your name. I am willing to bet you a pound of good chocolate, that your ferocious colonel neither tortures nor shoots me. My name is Captain Burr Time, and pray, what is your name? Miss Pym paused a second, then said, Jane Barton, Miss Jane Barton, Miss Barton, you are English, therefore you are brave and foolish, and to make a sport of death, and bet me a pound of chocolate. It is dreadful. Dreadful, Captain Burr Time, because if you win, I shall you think, be unable to pay. But in my rucksack there is some excellent chocolate. That is what troubles me, the loss of my chocolate and bovril and other comforts. All this time the Pink Lieutenant had fiercely gripped her arm, but the Captain was not even holding her. However, now that they were entering Valencienne, he put his hand on her arm. Goodbye, Fraulein. It is a pity you came here. You have accomplished nothing, and you are fated to die. Well, Captain, I have to thank you for making my little journey quite pleasant. I hope when you are a prisoner of the British, you will change your mind about us. You will see that we never ill-treat our prisoners as you do. Miss Pym was taken to the old Musee on the Place, now the Army headquarters, and locked up in a fine room of the old palace. She was troubled at the loss of her maps and various small belongings. She could not replace. The great windows looked out on the long Place, which in spite of German law, order, and punishment, retained its French aspect. German soldiers stalked about. German aeroplanes flew overhead. But Valencienne retained its French character. I wonder what they think they will do to me, thought Miss Pym. It was risky remaining visible. But she wished to interview this deadly colonel before disappearing. In olden times, I suppose, they would have been preparing the stake for me down there. Faggots heaped up round a stout post to which, purdy to Pym, would have been chained. From all accounts, these Germans are just as savage and inhuman today. How disappointed they will be to lose their victim. Her reflections were interrupted by the violent throwing open affolding doors. Four German soldiers surrounded her, and in harsh gutterls ordered her to follow the pink-faced young officer, goose-stepping in front. This absurd little procession marched along a corridor, and they entered a room of noble proportions, furnished with stately old French furniture, supplemented by common modern stuff. At a large table, laden with papers neatly docketed, sat a German officer, Colonel von Schlange. He never once looked up at Miss Pym, but continued writing quickly. Sheet after sheet. The pink officer stood very erect and immovable. The four soldiers might have been carved in wood. Miss Pym was curious to see the face of this formidable Colonel, but she could only make out a round bald patch on the top of a small head. If this goes on much longer, thought Miss Pym, I shall laugh or shout. It's all pose. The wretch thinks he is terrifying me. After a long wait, she said to the Lieutenant, in a peremptory voice, fetch me a chair. The young man looked at her, startled, and then at the Colonel, who put down his pen and raised his head, and Miss Pym looked into the most sinister, the most truly evil countenance she had ever seen. It was worse than a face dreamed of in a dreadful nightmare. The head was small and flat, the eyes close together and black. A large brush-like moustache spread out under a thin nose, with dilated nostrils. The pallid face was fretted with minute wrinkles, as though it had been steeped in hot water. But it was the degradation of a human countenance that most struck Miss Pym. This creature was capable of anything evil and unnatural. The word monster best described him. Now I understand the German conduct in Belgium and France, she thought. Like a reptile, the Colonel raised his head, and his black eyes met the honest eyes of the English woman. Then they shifted, and in a rapid harsh tone he gave orders. Miss Pym was pushed towards the table where he sat, and tumbled on to a chair. The soldiers tramped out, and Colonel van Schlange and Miss Pym faced each other. Before a word was spoken, the man opened a drawer, and took out two large revolvers which he placed carefully before him. Then he opened another drawer, and produced her rucksack and handbag, and carefully opening the latter, he brought out the maps, folding his hairy, yellow hands on them. He lent forward with a curiously cruel look of enjoyment, and in perfect English he said slowly, These are your possessions? Miss Pym was so fascinated by this extraordinary man that she failed to answer. She felt herself in the first row of the stalls, looking on at a melodrama. You do not answer, you are wise. I understand you are a self-confessed spy. We have a short way with spies, Miss Jane Barton. But before your career is put an end to, I have to know something about those who sent you. Who gave you these exceedingly interesting maps? You will give me some information about the disposition of the British troops. Ha-ha! This is what you call the biter bit. Now proceed. Make a full confession, without delay. If not, if not, repeated Miss Pym, keeping her eyes steadily fixed on the Colonel's shifty eyes, you will be dealt with. Yes, I know. You hope to have me shot, said Miss Pym calmly. But that you intend doing, whether I speak or not. Certainly you will be shot in any case. But if you do not speak, painful methods will be employed. You mean torture? Oh, Miss Barton, why use that expression? We shall take the necessary means to make you talk. You seem cool and self-possessed. That will be broken down by a certain potion, calculated to unnerve you. It would be impossible to describe the evil joy that lit up the countenance of the fiend as he spoke. But the satanic delight soon gave way to savage anger. Miss Pym faced him without fear, and the loathing and contempt she felt, she showed. She realized that she had a low type of coward before her. Well von Schlange said, Miss Pym, even for a German you are a bad type. I defy you. I shall confess nothing. I shall not talk, as you call it. Nor will I drink your nerve-breaking potion. Toying nervously with a revolver, von Schlange lent forward, and poured forth a stream of the vilest remarks. Unclean, foul, grossed words. Many of them unintelligible to the English lady who sat there. He hissed out obscene threats, which seemed to stain him. His face grew blotchy and swelled, like the freckled belly of a toad. Gasping for breath, he lent back. Miss Pym eyed him with ineffable contempt. You unclean little reptile was all she vouchsafed. Whereupon the colonel reared, exactly like a cobra, and fired his revolver. Miss Pym had expected this from the moment he had taken it up. She dipped her head down to her lap, and the bullet passed over and struck a mirror. The reportant crash of glass brought three officers running in from the adjoining room, Captain Vertheim, the pink-faced lieutenant, and another. This woman tried to shoot me, shouted von Schlange, forgetting that he still held the smoking revolver. Have her taken into the courtyard below, and have her flogged in the presence of as many soldiers as can be gotten to the yard. She will be shot at dawn. Till then she will undergo various other penalties. Call in the men. Miss Pym now decided that it was time to disappear. She could hear the tramp of the men approaching. A moment of mental anguish well nigh overcame her. Nothing lest she might fail, but the wave of horror passed. She pressed her head back and was to all appearance. No longer there. Quietly she slipped out of the chair and took refuge in a small space between a writing bureau and a lacquer cabinet. She was careful to touch neither the wall nor the furniture, so that the room might retain its usual appearance. She died, and with quickened pulse she noted the stupid bewilderment on all the faces. On Captain Vertimes she thought she detected relief. The colonel was quite hysterical. He ran round and round the room, brandishing the revolver, shouting, seize her, shoot her, kill her, flog her, and only when he perceived a glint of amusement on the faces of the soldiers at the door did he recover some appearance of self-control. A dangerous female spy has escaped. She must be concealed in the building. Let it be searched. Valencienne must be searched. A proclamation must immediately be printed, and criers must go through the streets, announcing that anyone harboring the English woman will be burnt alive. There is no security unless we are pitiless. An example must be made. That woman shall be, then remembering that a cool attitude befitted his rank. He passed a trembling hairy hand over his face. Come, gentlemen, which of you saw the woman slip out? My colonel, I did not see the woman escape, said Captain Vertime. Neither did I, said each of the other officers. This is very discreditable, said Colonel Von Schlange. And if the woman is not found in twenty-four hours, it will go hard with you. The young officers saluted and withdrew, leaving Von Schlange alone. Miss Pym kept her eyes on the table. Her one thought was to get possession of her two precious bags and the maps. If she left without them, she could hardly hope to recover them later. Germans are nothing if not methodical. In a few minutes the colonel would put the things safely away under lock and key, and they would be lost to her. Von Schlange walked to a mirror, where he attentively examined himself, and Miss Pym tiptoed towards the table. Some slight sound made the colonel turn quickly, but nothing moved. He sighed and took out a pocket-comb, which he tenderly applied to his moustache. Then Miss Pym advanced, scarcely breathing. She gently lifted both the bags and then took up the folded maps. Seeing the sheets the colonel had been writing, in a neat pile by the ink-stand, and a packet of documents, she gathered them up, opened her handbag, and slipped them in. This time Von Schlange was certain he had heard a movement in the room. He looked round rather wildly, then darted to the table. Miss Pym snatched up the other revolver and back to the door. The colonel was clearly overcome with rage and apprehension. Miss Pym dared not wait a moment longer, lest she should find the officers hurrying in or the colonel bolting out. She opened the door and fled, racing along the corridor, down the staircase, and out into a damp, dreary courtyard, where doubtless her execution was to have taken place. The great entrance had been closed to prevent her escape. Perdita was beginning to feel herself trapped. She ran through an arched doorway, down a dark passage, and entered a guard room. Soldiers were laughing boisterously. One young fellow was imitating colonel Von Schlange, waving his arms and shouting, Valencienne must be searched, an example must be made, etc. Ack, Franz, that is enough if it got to the ears of the colonel, that we made fun of him. He would gladly shoot us. Sees fooling, man. Well said Franz, smiling. I am off for beer. I know a nice little maiden who will have to supply me with box. One, two, three. And she will have kisses. One, two, and three. Miss Pym determined to follow Franz and get out of this dangerous building as soon as possible. Two sentries at a back door challenged the young German with a grin, and Miss Pym passed out into the plaza. Twilight was deepening into night, but there were great flares of light at the wine and beer shops. German soldiers strolled about, swaggering and scowling, the smaller fry imitating their officers. A beautiful band was playing outside a brasserie. Miss Pym stopped to listen. How could Germans hear such music and be such terrible brutes? She looked in at the hall and noted the youthfulness of the majority. Big, square, heavy boys, mostly fair-haired. It looked as though they had been bred to order, as though a slow-witted animal type had been in demand, and the nation obediently had turned them out by the hundred thousand, men who must needs march together or run away, men with the characteristics of droves of cattle, men who could be trusted neither to think nor to ask questions, men who would fight, murder, sack, loot, or violate. As occasion arose and dead would produce glycerin and engine grease in the corpse-fat factory, Germany had organized well and produced the type she required for her particular purpose. CHAPTER XII WEREY, HUNGRY AND SICK AT HEART Miss Pym found her way to the Hotel de France, the chief hotel in Valenciennes. She hoped to find some unoccupied room where she could sleep in a comfortable bed in comparative security. There was much coming and going and some unusual bustle. In the largest room of the Hotel, a long table was spread with fruit and flowers. Evidently a banquet was about to begin. The Hotel proprietor, a haggard middle-aged man, was anxiously bowing to officers as they entered and directing them to the salon. Curiosity led Miss Pym to follow them, and she found the banquet was to be given by Colonel von Schlange as a welcome to officers just arrived from the Eastern Front. Too weary to linger, Miss Pym now explored the bedrooms on every floor. The rooms were evidently all engaged. Miss Pym wondered where she could find rest. At the end of a passage she saw a ladder, up which she crawled, and found herself in another long passage. Being cautiously along, feeling the walls with her hands, she came to a table and groping anxiously was rewarded by finding a tin candlestick with a new candle in it and a box of sulfur matches in the big saucer of the candlestick. She now examined a perfect warren of small bedrooms, and could take her choice as most of them were unoccupied. She selected one of two in an angle, with a window opening on to the roof. A bed, a chair, a tin basin on a table were furniture enough. The door had a stout bolt and a big key. She discovered one of those cupboards in the wall called a placard, so usual in old French houses and nearly always papered or painted to resemble the wall. Here she stowed away her bags and her hat, changed her boots for light shoes, and then boldly reconnoitred for water. The dripping from a tap hard by enabled her to fill the tin basin, and soon she was refreshed by scented soap and a thorough hairbrushing. But still feeling nervous, Miss Pym dared not undress. She lay down on the little bed and fell into a dreamless sleep, awakening some two hours later with a start. The night air came in gentle gusts. Through the open skylight, the stars burned and vibrated with extraordinary intensity. Miss Pym lay there some time, reviewing the events of the day. Calm and refreshed by sleep, she now began to feel very hungry. Her lunch had been sketchy. A small piece of omelet and a slice of bread could hardly prove satisfying for many hours. Miss Pym decided to go down and forage for herself. She ought to pick up some crumbs from Von Schlanger's banquet. Carefully noting the position of her room, she cautiously descended. The loud voices, the singing and toasting, testified to the free flow of champagne in the banqueting hall. Very red-faced, tunics loosened, the Germans sat at the long table. Von Schlanger, though very far gone, still kept up appearances. The pink lieutenant, smiling and foolish, was pouring champagne into the open mouth of a snoring companion. Captain Wirtheim was drinking and weeping. Others were making speeches or crying, ha-ha, at intervals. One man was clumsily dancing. What is that fool doing, shouted Von Schlanger? Dancing? Germans don't dance without women? Send for those girls. That girl's your excellency, asked the proprietor, trembling, for only too well he knew to what girl's Von Schlanger referred. Some fifteen young French maidens, torn from their homes in neighbouring villages, and even far beyond, had arrived at Valenciennes that very evening and were to be packed off to Germany into so-called service, a euphemism for the basest slavery imaginable. The unfortunate girls had been locked up in a room in the hotel, awaiting a troop train, which was to leave at dawn. Monsieur Dubois, the hotel proprietor, stammered and objected that if his excellency meant the children just arrived, they were in no state to appear before, say, Monsieur. Hold your tongue, said Von Schlanger, slowly and thickly. You will be shot if the girls are not here in five minutes. A silence fell over the assembly. A lot of French girls would make a jolly wind-up of the banquet. They are more elegant than Russian girls, whispered one of the officers from the Galician front. They came, a weeping crowd. Miss Pym stood in the room as they entered, clinging to each other. Children of fourteen, fine young girls of seventeen and eighteen, their faces convulsed by terror and grief. Some carried little travelling bags, others clutched small bundles. All seemed expectant of a terrible fate. Von Schlanger rose majestically, and pointing to the girls, he shouted. They are to go out and undress, let them return without clothing. German officers wished to contemplate beauty unadorned, clothed like that. Ah! They are frightful. He swayed slightly, then sat down suddenly. The girls scuttled out of the room, like terrified lambs, from a slaughterhouse, and crouched trembling in the passage. Miss Pym followed, and resuming visibility, approached the children. Fly, Maison Fong, just as you are. Fly to your homes, and conceal yourselves, you who have homes in Valenciennes. Hide for the night those who live in the country. I will give those devils something else to think about. Being the terrified children to the entrance, she saw them scatter in the darkness. Turning she met the proprietor. Who are you, he asked? Do you know this means our death, yours and mine? Better so, monsieur, than the dishonour of all these little ones. I am an English woman. You go away and hide yourself. Leave me to manage these German brutes. They are all so drunk. They will forget tomorrow what happened. But madame, alone with those demons, know it is not possible. Do as I order, said Miss Pym hurriedly, and she walked quietly into the banqueting room. Fon Schlange saw her first, but realizing he was drunk, he thought it must be some hallucination. He clutched the table with his hairy paws, and swallowed repeatedly. Miss Pym walked straight up to the side of his chair. He turned his flat head, and their eyes met. In the look she gave, partly sobered him. A curious silence fell on the assembly. Only broken by the resounding slaps, showered on the snake's face. Miss Pym struck hard, then snatching up the glass of champagne. She smashed it in his face, blood and champagne streaming down his uniform. The spy, the English devil woman, shoot her, my God! I have not my revolver, gentlemen. Shoot, shoot! Geld Fon Schlange, as Miss Pym flew to the door, and extinguished all the electric lights, the switches being just outside. And in less time than it takes to relate, she turned the key on the furious officers. Seeing Monsieur Dubois wringing his hands, she said, Monsieur, you must deliver them. You know whom to thank for this evening's work. And if you only assure them that you saw a mad English woman rushing out of the hotel, and that you tried to seize her, they will not shoot you. Besides, Monsieur, yours is the only good hotel. Fon Schlange will not kill you. Give me time to get away. When I have gone, open to them. Go quickly, then, madame. Otherwise my doors will be smashed. Ah, mon Dieu! There go the windows. Miss Pym rushed out, returning a few moments later, when she had made herself invisible. Even to get food somehow, she reconnoitred the kitchen and larder, where she found the remains of a roast chicken and a little black bread, and soon she was scrambling up the ladder to her room, taking the precaution to lock and bolt the door, in case search were made. This fear of being caught in her sleep made her get out her shoulder bag, her handbag, her jacket, and hat. All these things she placed on a chair beside the bed, and waited some time with a fast beating heart, then hearing nothing, she stole to the ladderhead and listened, and as quietly crept back, undressed, and slept profoundly and long. CHAPTER XIII The next morning Miss Pym was horrified to learn that Monsieur Dubois and his wife had been shot, and that their two daughters had been forced to attend the execution. The girls were told that their lives would be spared if they revealed the hiding place of the English spy. As they were unable to do so, they were tortured, outraged, and shot. Miss Pym felt herself a danger to the unhappy inhabitants. She had hoped to save many unfortunate young girls, but had done so only at the cost of four innocent lives, and it was probable that all the girls would be recaptured. Profoundly distressed she made her way to the station. It was hopeless to attempt boarding a passenger train. There were very few, and the crowding by soldiers and civilians made it difficult to get standing room. Miss Pym was surprised at the condition of the carriages. The paint blistered and cracked, the windows so dirty that no one could look out of or into the compartments. The engines were rusty, the wheels creaked, and all the trains appeared thoroughly dilapidated. After waiting hours Miss Pym decided to board a goods train, labeled Aachen, open trucks laden with rough cases and hampers, scrambling up with difficulty, for Miss Pym was past the age of agility. She settled herself on a large basket between cases. And before long the train moved out, and Miss Pym felt that she was now fairly launched for Germany. But there was another unaccountable stoppage. Were they going to search the train for the English spy? How imprudent she had been to mention Berlin as her objective. Still after all, was she not quite safe, even should they make a search? At last the long delay was explained. Six more trucks were being shunted out of the station, and were attached with a rough jar to Miss Pym's train. More cases thought she. I wonder what they can be sending back into Germany. But the six trucks were carefully covered over with tarpaulin. Miss Pym looked at the label on the basket upon which she sat. It was addressed to Frau Dr.in Gunther, known Bonstrasse, Charlottenburg. It had been crammed so full that the cover was several inches from the basket, and tied in and out with coarse string. Miss Pym, whose besetting sin was curiosity, determined thoroughly to examine the contents of this basket, which looked to her very like loot. Cutting the string at one end she carefully unlaced it, and the open basket revealed a bundle of linen. This proved to be four fine linen sheets in pillowcases, marked Röckfurt. Beneath the linen she found ladies underclothing a fine cambrick, two silk dresses, a box of beautiful lace, and in the box a German letter, a pile of children's embroidered frocks, three dolls and a pretty little doll's parasol, and last of all, a beautiful said china clock ornamented with cupids. Clearly these things were stolen from a French house and destined to become the property of some German military doctor's wife. Miss Pym had no scruples in opening the letter, doubtless it would explain where the things came from, and this is what she read. My sweet Lisa, my dear little wife, I know how much your ever-true heart is troubled. The terrible deprivations at home, and your well-founded anxieties about me, must wound your tender heart. I am sending you these nice things as consolation. The dresses looked too narrow for my Lisa's lovely plumpness, but you will arrange them with your skillful needle. Our little Lisa-kin will look an angel in the frock's eye-send. And the lace in this box is, I believe, very valuable. We must hand it down in our family. Declina Wilhelm, when he grows up, must have it for his wife. The sheets are good, and will please you, I know. All these things come from the chateau of a real countess. The colonel took all the pictures and miniatures, but General Wiesmann took the jewels. Such necklaces! Oh, my Lisa, it made my mouth water to see those diamonds. The countess behaved shamefully. She insulted us all, and called us murderers and thieves. We did not mind the insults as individuals, but we resented them as good Germans, who have the sacred mission of spreading Koltur and winning the love and trust of other peoples. The son of the countess, who is a French captain, was at the chateau with his wife and children. He was a spy. He had come back disguised as a peasant. Of course we were bound to protect ourselves against spies. All the males in the chateau, including the count, were therefore justly executed. We did not like killing the women and children, but our General had to overcome his reluctance. And it was the truest compassion, for when the countess and her daughter-in-law fell, what would have become of the children? It was painful to me, to have to certify to the death of all the inmates of the chateau. But war is war, and every day it becomes more terrible. For us it is nothing but murder and butchery. Where is the fair play the English talks so much about? They have ten times as many men, and guns as we have. No one can stand their fire. We remove our guns as fast as we can, and retire according to plan. It makes my heart bleed to think of my Lisa, and the children having such difficulties about food. But courage, dearest, the English I hear are starving, and their chief towns and ports have been destroyed by our noble airmen, born heroes. The all-highest says we shall soon have peace, with an indemnity which will make us all rich. Thine ever-devoted husband, Ludwig Gunter, Miss Pimm, wrote in German on a sheet of paper. The countess spoke the truth. You Germans are murderers and thieves. Indeed your husband has acknowledged it. He says that after robbing them of all valuables, the whole of this family was butchered. But you will be made to suffer for these crimes. Nemesis. She put this post-script with the letter into the envelope, replaced it in the box of lace, folded the various articles, and returned them to the basket which she fastened up again. The train was gathering speed, but the neglected railway and lack of wheel grease made the journey very rough and unpleasant, added to which a sickening odor streamed over the truck whenever the train stopped. For some time Miss Pimm was puzzled to account for it, but scrambling on one of the cases to obtain a better view of the country, she noticed that the cover on one of the trucks had been blown back, revealing partly clothed, decomposing bodies tied together in bundles of three and four with wire and ropes. Miss Pimm sank down onto the basket covering her face with her hands. She had expected war to be horrible, but this such appalling horrors the massacre of innocent women and babes, the savage ferocity of soldiers, the desecration of their dead. For Miss Pimm realized that these trucks of corpses, treated like carrion, were destined for the fat factory. When these people are conquered, she thought, these traits of character will nevertheless be latent. A German, defeated, will still and ever be a German, ruthless, merciless, cruel, crafty, false, through and through. There will be fun shlongas for all time, and although the snake's head be trodden in the mud, the reptile's body will continue to wriggle. England must never sleep again without sentinels to watch. Never again must she be caught unprepared. Treaties against war, if not backed by force, are all scraps of paper. Commercial treaties are the only ones which have any chance of being observed. Miss Pimm now bitterly regretted her undertaking. Her whole being shrank from the ordeal. Not that she was concerned about her own safety, but she loathed propinquity with these people. Bruised in body and spirit, she lay there, passing through Nemor and Liege. She saw very few people about, but the fields were well cultivated. The German taskmasters took care of that. At Liege, Belgians and gangs were being entrained in cattle-trucks to be carried off into slavery. It was a fearful sight, worse indeed than seeing the poor dead bodies that free men should be enslaved and forced to work for the enemy. Was a bondage so vile that Miss Pimm wept and wept at the shame of it. CHAPTER XIV At Aachen the train stopped, and Miss Pimm, quite stiff, aching in every limb, reached the platform. She made her way to the buffet. It was evening, her first evening in Germany. She determined to appear as a bona fide traveller and to order and pay for her supper. For some time she sat in the restaurant at a table covered with white American cloth. And finding no one came, she called to a German waitress and asked for some food. The woman with languid indifference demanded her bread, butter, and meat cards. But I am a traveller, just arrived from Belgium. I have no card. You might, in that case, be permitted government soup, and some ersatz cafe, coffee made from a substitute. But most people coming into Germany bring food. You are not German, though, and your accent is not Dutch, said the woman, suspiciously. No replied Miss Pimm. I am Swiss. I am a governess. I went to Brussels to take my pupils into Holland. I am now rejoining the mother of my pupils in Berlin. We have been in Switzerland. Well you would have done better to stay in Holland. There is great want here. It is not because of the price of food, but because food is unobtainable. We just get sufficient to keep life in our bodies, but not enough to work on. They do say we shall get some corn from the Romanian harvest, but we poor people will not see much of that. Miss Pimm was now treated to a cup of broth, made with hot water, oatmeal, and some kind of unsound fish. I really don't think I can swallow this, said Miss Pimm, eyeing the mess with aversion. Yet it is good soup, said the woman, looking hungrily at the steaming cup. Then let me see you drink it. Oh, I will pay for it, of course, added Miss Pimm. There is no one here. Sit down and drink it. The woman, unable to resist. She seated herself at the table, and noisily gulped down the soup. Oh, that was good, she exclaimed, wiping her mouth on her apron. But is there nothing you could give me? asked Miss Pimm rather anxiously. The woman, now gratefully inclined, went off to search, returning with a cup of substitute coffee, without milk or sugar, a few stewed plums, and a very small piece of what she called gingerbread. Miss Pimm had to be satisfied with this, but she ate without appetite. The woman watched her with some amusement. Ah, you are dainty now, because you come from a land of plenty. But wait a bit. You will soon feel willing to gnaw your shoes. Miss Pimm asked her where to find the best hotel, and at what time the train left for Berlin. The trains just now are crowded with wounded. Yes, and with dead too, said the woman, lowering her voice. Oh, it is a fearful sight. Two, three years ago, these same trains brought English prisoners. But all that has changed. Those terrible English are now taking our boys' prisoners, and they have guns so powerful they will soon be able to hit Aachen from France. Then as travelers entered noisily, she made out the bill, saying, The fast train to Cologne starts at nine o'clock in the morning. You should be here at half past eight. And the hotel of the Royal Eagle is five minutes walk from the station, to your right. Miss Pimm knew that she could not enter the hotel without passport and police permits, so she resumed invisibility and softly left the station. The Eagle Hotel was crowded with officers, and after diligent search, not an unoccupied room could she find. Farther down the Bonstrasse, she found another and smaller hotel, the Crown. Here also every room was taken. It was very difficult to see her way now, as the town was ill-lighted in the quieter quarters, noticing a card in the window, signifying that bed and board could be had there. She determined to risk it and ask a lodging for the night. A thin, severe woman opened the door. Miss Pimm explained that she wanted to stay the night, that she had come from Holland and was on her way to Berlin. Why do you not go to the hotel, asked the woman, mistrusting the foreign accent. I tried both hotels, replied Miss Pimm, but they have not a spare room. So I walked on and found your house. My luggage is at the station. Have you been to the police, asked the woman, still suspicious? Oh yes, said Miss Pimm in despair, but I have not got any bread or meat tickets. You must have a traveller's card. That will do, said Frau Hoffman. Not tonight, said Miss Pimm. The police will only give me my card tomorrow morning. There is another in down this road, said the woman, stepping out and pointing vaguely in the darkness. But there are so many soldiers. And those hotels are so noisy. They do not seem the right sort of place for a lonely woman. Please take me in. I pay well. Somewhat mollified Frau Hoffman admitted Miss Pimm. I can give you a sleeping room, and tomorrow I can give you breakfast. But I cannot provide you with food tonight. Miss Pimm agreed to everything and never asked the price, which favourably impressed her hostess, who let her into a small room lighted to Miss Pimm's surprise by an electric lamp. It was severely furnished. A solid chest of drawers, chair and table, polished to such a degree that the light was reflected over and over again by every piece of furniture. The floor was painted and waxed and polished to it shone like a mirror. The bed was huge and billowy, the linen spotless. Certainly cleanliness reigned here. Most it seemed, to the exclusion of charm. But peace and forgetfulness were all Miss Pimm desired. And these she found in the softest of featherbeds. The dreadful ersatzcafe the next morning made her realize that the daily meals would be a difficulty. But she would have no scruples in helping herself now from the tables or shops of German people, especially of the well-to-do. Frau Hoffman sourly made out her bill and saw her lodger depart with evident relief. She had felt all was not well. Miss Pimm had not shown a police permit. And she had looked rather English, for all she professed to be Swiss. How was it her boots had the name of an English maker? Frau Hoffman might have notified the police of her suspicions. But the police gave trouble. She herself might become suspect. Had she not trouble enough with Johann Hoffman, her husband at the front, and Albert, her son in training, she would charge Miss Pimm double to pay for the anxiety she had given her. Miss Pimm paid with a kind smile and earnest thanks, whereupon hard visaged Frau Hoffman burst into tears. And between her sobs she said, Take the name of the English maker off your boots, Frau Line. Sooner or later you will be caught, and you will certainly be shot. Never attempt to move without a police permit. If you do, you will be handed over to the police. I risked taking you in last night, because money is so very scarce. And the food, bad as it is, costs much. I gave you no food, because really, there is none in the house. But here is a hard-boiled egg. I cannot send you on your journey starving. I keep five hens concealed in an attic, and sometimes I am fortunate enough to get an egg or two. Miss Pimm saw that a refusal would hurt the poor woman, so she gratefully accepted it, with a neat little packet of salt. And hastening to the Aachen station took a ticket to Cologne. A secret service official was on the platform, but he was busy with passengers leaving Germany, and took no notice of passengers bound for Cologne. Possibly also, Miss Pimm's get-up, so eminently serviceable, had a rather German look, the rucksack, the cloth hat with cock's feathers, looking very like the Tyrellese hat, the stout-laced boots, all suggested, made in Germany. So Miss Pimm walked up and down the platform, unmolested, amid a crowd of poor people, and some soldiers. Two trains passed to Cologne, with blinds down, and the Red Cross painted on the carriages, before the train she awaited was made up. Then she took her place in the second class, not without a struggle. Two Germans in succession tried to hustle her. One man nearly shoved her off the step as she was climbing in. Another flung himself onto her lap, and declared it was his place, but the conductor, finding the man had only a third-class ticket, was very wroth and pitched him out on the platform. The man in no way resented the violence of the official, but shook his fist at Miss Pimm as the train moved out. Miss Pimm could not help laughing, which so enraged the man that he jumped up to the step and spit at Miss Pimm through the window, letting himself down as the train gathered speed. Very bad manners observed a fellow traveller to spit at a German. Perhaps he guessed I was Swiss, said Miss Pimm, but it is bad manners to spit at anyone, excepting an English person, said the German, a stout professor, with a black mane brushed back and wearing spectacles. I accept no one, said Miss Pimm stoutly. It is degrading to the person who does it. Well there are cases when it is the right thing to do. I am proud to say I spat at the ladies of the British Embassy at Berlin. I happened to be at the station, said the professor, taking a copy of Kant out of his capacious pocket. Have you ever read this remark of Kant's, said Miss Pimm severely? I will not, in my own person, degrade the dignity of humanity. The professor looked at Miss Pimm with some surprise. So you read our immortal Kant. He is ours too, cried Miss Pimm inadvertently, for his mother was Scotch. The professor, with a malignant glow of pleasure and triumph, exclaimed, Zo, you are a Scotch. No, said Miss Pimm. My mother was Scotch. I am Swiss, from Barron. Then, said the professor, See, I spit on your mother, and he expected rated violently on the foot rug. This infuriated a German woman with her two daughters. She yelled for the conductor, who bustled in, looking very severe. The three German ladies all spoke together, and pointed to the floor of the carriage. The conductor glared at the professor, and pointed to the notice. There botan's Ralken, smoking as forbidden, in vain the professor made assurances that he had not been smoking. He was dragged out of his seat, and hauled off to a smoking compartment. On the seat he left Kant, and a dark Mircham pipe, which evidently had fallen out of his pocket. Miss Pimm rose and hurried after him in the corridor, handing him the book and the pipe. The professor was rather taken aback. Then he smiled and exclaimed, Forgive, and Miss Pimm smiled back. Later when they met in the restaurant car, he became quite chatty and attentive, and naively talked a great deal about himself. He was so interested in his subject that he forgot to ask any awkward questions. Miss Pimm learned that there was to be a kind of Congress of Professors at Cologne to discuss war aims and peace. Professor Schnupttuch gave Miss Pimm his card, and begged her to attend the Congress, especially on the third day, when he was to speak. Are all the German professors to talk on war aims, asked Miss Pimm? Certainly, replied the professor, it is a boundless subject, and all shades of opinion will be represented. There will be Turks and Bulgarians, as well as Hungarians and Austrians. The Turkish view ought to be interesting, said Miss Pimm dryly. Certainly it will be interesting. The Turks have very progressive war aims. Their cold tour is exceedingly advanced. Especially Fraulein, you should attend, especially when I read my paper. What point of view do you take? A moderate point of view. It is useless to make exorbitant demands. We must not utterly crush the European nations, as we need them for trading with, and therefore we must insist on friendly relations. I have a fine passage on the brotherly love of nations. The German, of course, having a higher morality, has a higher mission in the world. He must educate the world, and teach nations the true spirit of humanity. It is very terrible to think how little the German nature is understood by other races. We feel no ill will towards any people. Once we have made peace, we shall cordially offer the hand of friendship to all. We shall trade with all. One of the conditions of our peace will be free markets, free seas, and freedom of all routes of trade. We must alas insist on a large indemnity, because otherwise we shall be ruined, and our victory will be equivalent to a defeat. Belgium in the north of France we must retain, and our colonies must be restored, with a portion of the enemy's colonies as compensation. After all, seeing how this war was forced on us, our program is, I think, exceedingly moderate and magnanimous. We are undertaking a great task, that of enlightening foreign peoples. But we shall not flinch. The outcome of our labor will be the gradual uplifting of the whole human race. Professor Schnupttuck's eyes glowed with fervor, and he seemed to swell as he noisily ate the excellent dinner set before him. Pim listened with interest, mingled with astonishment. She could not feel angry. The professor was so ridiculous. He was quite ignorant of facts, and lived entirely in the realms of fantasy. She made no comment, but looked dreamily out of the windows of the car, then feeling it incumbent to make some remark. She asked abruptly, How is it that we can have such a good meal on the train when it is so difficult to get food elsewhere? It is politics. Neutrals travel. They are well fed, so they report Germany is not starving, and the enemy trembles. For I have it on excellent authority. The English are dying of hunger. Miss Pim laughed so heartily that she attracted the attention of travelers, who glared at her. She blushed and repented. Suddenly a huge German, in a kind of knitted nightcap, came swaying towards her and stood balancing himself by extremely dirty hands spread on the table. So, he exclaimed, You laugh, and there is war going on everywhere. He glared at her so furiously that Miss Pim felt convulsed by laughter. She buried her face in her paper-serviette. The professor very angry rose and glared at the other man. This lady is with me. Address your questions to me. Repeat your question. The huge man looked vaguely round and returned to his seat, and the incident was closed. But Miss Pim understood that she was now living amidst a strange, savage people, who looked on everyone, even Neutrals, as possible enemies. It therefore behooved her to go warily. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of Miss Pim's Camouflage This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Miss Pim's Camouflage by Lady Dorothy Stanley. Chapter 15 How long that journey appeared to Miss Pim? It was very hot in the compartment, as all the windows were closed, and in Germany it is really verboten to keep a window open in a railway carriage or a room. A German's objection to fresh air is deep-rooted, though he airs his mattresses and pillows, for you can see windows everywhere bulging with these. When the weather is fine. Yet you never see man or woman sitting by an open window. It was quite late when the train entered the central station of Cologne. The Professor, who had taken Miss Pim under his protection, advised her to go to a modest little hotel off the Hochstraße, where he usually put up. Miss Pim explained that all her luggage had gone on to Berlin, and unfortunately her passport was in her trunk. The Professor said this was terrible, as she must show her passport to the police before she could get a permit, but said the garrulous vain little Professor. I will accompany you to the police, and Herr Professor Schnuppt took ought to be able to satisfy the authorities, being myself so important a personage. So leave it all to me. Miss Pim was quite ready to do that. Of course she could have avoided all police supervision by becoming invisible, but that state had its drawbacks. For she could then learn nothing by direct questions, and it became rather unnerving to be apparently non-existent for a long time. The Herr Professor carried a large canvas valise, a rug, and an umbrella. Miss Pim begged to be allowed to take the rug. The Professor was not unwilling, and together they walked out of the station. A few steps brought them to the wonderful Domhoff, that almost too perfect specimen of Gothic architecture. Its grandeur made Miss Pim gasp. The tops of the Great Towers were in full moonlight. Below they were in shadow, not so deep, however, as to obliterate the wonderful embroidery and lacework of stone. Ah, so you feel the beauty of German art, and to think of those English pigs trying to destroy this miracle by bombs. But no aeroplanes have threatened Cologne, or the Cathedral, said Miss Pim. Threatened, yes, but Cologne is guarded. Look, the ever-watchful Towers are circling round even now, and as he spoke, three aeroplanes wheeled over the Great Dome. And yet you have almost destroyed Rheem Cathedral, a greater masterpiece than the Cologne Cathedral, said Miss Pim indignantly. There you are entirely mistaken. It is not to be compared with this glory. It belongs to a rude epoch. You say we have almost destroyed it. That is not so. It is intact. But had we reduced it to dust, that would in no way be regrettable. When we have conquered France, we can build up a finer edifice. Ah, Fraulein, wait till you get to Berlin. There you will learn what German art can do. At Tiergarten, the monument to victory in the Königsplatz, the colossal figures of Schlossbrücke, more majestic than your Swiss mountains. They were now in the Hochstrasse, and turning to the right and farther down to the left. In a rather mean street, they came to the Schwan Hotel. The professor then began to beam and to play the host. Here we are, Gnädige Fraulein, in a very comfortable rest-house. He led her into a small passage, to a bureau. Herr Müller, delighted to find myself once more in the Schwan, my room it is reserved. Good, and may I ask, has my colleague, Herr Professor Dumkoff, yet arrived? Good, and von Pappern? Ah, he will come later, so. And Frau Müller, I hope, is well? All this was poured out with bows and smiles. Then remembering Miss Pimm, this lady will join our party, a very distinguished Swiss lady, important neutral. You will find a room for her? Herr Müller clasped his hands and shook his head. Alas, they were full up, quite full. This great Congress of such momentous importance had filled Cologne. Even great sums of money could not obtain a bed. The professor beamed, and with the naive vanity of a child, looked first at Miss Pimm, then at the proprietor, and said, I speak on the third day. Then I am afraid I must try elsewhere, said Miss Pimm, who felt tired and very weary of her companion. On no account, Herr Müller, you must make room. You really must accommodate this lady. Herr Müller had done some rapid calculating, and decided, if the lady would be willing, to pay the price of a first-class room for a very inferior room, well, it could be arranged. The professor hastened to accept for Miss Pimm and added, now I must accompany Fraulein to the police. Being a Swiss lady, she must report herself, and off they marched. The professor wanted Miss Pimm to take his arm, like good camaraden, but the word grated on Miss Pimm's ears, and the propinquity she objected to, but he was a kind little man, willing to put himself out for her. So she thanked him, assured him that she was not tired, and since her belongings had been left at the schwan, she had nothing to carry but herself. The police office had a forbidding aspect. A dirty waiting room, crudely and intensely illuminated. Two old officers at high desks were nodding over ledgers. They were told to sit on a bench and wait. The professor was as submissive as a lamb, and Miss Pimm, who at home would have been exceedingly indignant, had no choice in the matter. After waiting more than half an hour, a man in uniform, with only one arm and one eye, summoned them to the chief's office, a cheerless office of the verboten, a place of rules, orders, system, and punishment. The chief, a haggard man, bald with long wisps of yellow-gray hair, and a long melancholy mustache, set hunched up over some papers he was numbering. Miss Pimm noted his remarkably long fingers, which were also quite remarkably dirty. The professor, evidently rather nervous, spoke rapidly for Miss Pimm, and explained the absence of passport. The policeman straightened himself and looked severely at Miss Pimm. Who are you? he asked abruptly. Miss Pimm repeated her story. She came from Bern. Her name was Arnaud. She was going to Berlin, etc. Well, you cannot move without your passport. I'll telegraph to the station at Berlin for your luggage. And you should properly speaking spend the night here in a cell, but you have an honorable citizen, a good German, to speak on your behalf. So you may go to the Schwan, but you must report yourself twice a day here till your passport arrives. Be here tomorrow morning at 10. Here is a permit for the night, properly stamped. One mark. Miss Pimm paid in silence. She felt rather sorry for the professor, as she knew that she must disappear the next morning. And the police, in that case, would certainly make it unpleasant for Schnuftduck. All the way back to the hotel, the professor held forth on the expected supper, wondering what Frau Miller had in store for them. Beer, alas, had become very poor stuff, but the proprietor had a fine collection of old rind wines, strong and yet soft as milk and honey. The professor smacked his lips as he counted on his fat fingers his favorite wines. We shall have great connoisseurs dining with us. Dr. Poppern is professor of theology at Berlin. His paper on a German piece should prove interesting. And Herr Professor Dumka. He is a great Biblical scholar and doctor of Oriental languages at Göttingen. You have been fortunate to meet such distinguished men as myself and colleagues. When they reached the Schwan, there was much bustle and noise. All the travelers had arrived. Very hungry Germans. Miss Pimm was rather taken aback when shown her room. It was nothing but a big cupboard in Frau Miller's bedroom. The door had a glass top held open by a cord. I am sorry that we have no better room, said the stealth proprietress. It is Gretchen's room, our maid servant. But as soon as Herr Miller has left in the morning you can come in here to dress. Miss Pimm found her bags on the bed. There was no room for a table. War is war, she sighed, and after smoothing her hair and washing her face and hands, in what appeared a small dish of water on a chair, she descended to the Spicesal, or eating-room. It was easy to find. The round of cheers which welcomed the steaming soup-tereen, brought in by Herr Miller, was a sufficient guide. Professor Schnupptuck had reserved a seat for Miss Pimm beside him. Her other neighbor was a strange-looking individual, with an immense head and deep overhanging brows. His eyes had the melancholy restlessness of the chimpanzee. His mouth was large, the crooked mouth of an orator. He wore a frock-coat considerably the worse for wear, a crumpled shirt-front with a frill, and a loose red tie, his age anything between 35 and 50. Schnupptuck introduced him as my distinguished colleague Herr Dr. Friedrich Koitzig, journalist and social reformer. When Miss Pimm was seated, she looked along the table at the guests, German professors and merchants with their wives, worthy people possibly, but quite distressingly plain. Nowhere in England would such a collection have been possible. The women seemed uglier than the men, but that may have been because of their clothing, and the way their heads were attired. Miss Pimm felt quite shocked to find herself in such company. And these creatures, she thought, are representatives of the intellect of Germany. They were all eating their soup with dreadful inhaling sounds. A plate was put before her, some kind of hodgepodge of barley carrots, and again that doubtful fish she had smelt at the Aachen station buffet. Miss Pimm hesitated. She feared tomein poisoning. She was hungry, and therefore tried and retried to swallow it, but all in vain. Dr. Koitzig observed her with a grin. Oh, you'll come to it by and by, if you remain in Germany. Then dexterously changing plates with her, he made short work of the mess, saying, It is a pity to waste eatable food, because, I assure you, we get plenty which is quite uneatable. And what are you doing in our country, he asked, His yellow monkey eyes darting furtive glances, first at her and then at the others. Come to spy out the poverty of the land? Miss Pimm colored up. No, don't blush. See all you can and publish it over the world. You cannot say anything as bad as I want to say. But my paper has long been suppressed. I call it the probe. I am here to raise my voice at the Congress. But I shall be howled down. Silly dupes and wicked knaves. There you have the whole German nation ticketed. Miss Pimm looked the embarrassment she felt. The monkey-faced man seemed amused. He was now quite happy and confidential. How completely we have dished ourselves. This war was to make us masters of the world. We have dreamt of war, planned war, glorified war, breached war, then made war, and poof, the toadstool has burst. But it is only through ruin, Germany will recover her senses. Is it not so? And it is through war you English will find your senses, eh? You agree? Himmel! What fools you were! Before August 1914. Miss Pimm edged away from this extraordinary German. You do not like my saying you are English, as though you could hide it. These people see nothing, of course. They are intent on food and the preparation of speeches and addresses. Ha-ha! Of course you are English. You are not young. You are not handsome. But you are sane and courageous, and—and clean. And we are none of these things just now. I don't ask you to commit yourself. Give yourself away, as the English call it. Oh, you English! I could like you if I were not so damned envious of you. You will be taken up. All Germans are not so stupid as the professors. You will certainly be taken up, and they will shoot you with enjoyment. We like shooting women and children. It is our specialty, and at the same time we talk of our love of humanity, our tenderness and chivalry. Ha-ha! Miss Pym asked him why he was not fighting. Because, through infantile paralysis, I have one leg much shorter and weaker than the other. One leg would carry me to the front, the other would run away. I would call camarade and mean it. I like the English. The quality of their stupidity is pleasing to me. What an article I could write on the different brands of stupidity of different nations. No, I am not yet up to the mark as a fighter. But I dare say, when we have got through our supply of little boys, we shall call up the Halt and the Blind. No, you were not going to refuse bloot-burst. These sausages are specialty here, and quite delicatessen. So Miss Pym reluctantly tackled a black sausage and found it possible. Professor Schnuptuk now applied her with pale golden wine and tried to draw her into an argument with the other professors, but they were so venomous about England that she could not speak. The professor's wives also were silent. It is doubtful whether they were listening to their liege lords. They were probably considering the quality and cost of the food. Their countenances were somewhat expressionless, though they wore a settled look of anxiety, for the problem of living was becoming harder day by day. Miss Pym noticed less submission than she had expected. When Professor Dumkoff was strafing England most vehemently and boasting of German victories, proud Professor Dumkoff violently shook her broad shoulders and exclaimed, Ah, I am sick to death of such talk. What we want is peace. Any peace. A French peace. An English peace. Anything is better than this war. My little sweet one, said the professor, you do not understand. This war was an obligation, a natural perspiration of the great German nation, whereby we throw off the fever, we become healthy, we march against all the nations of the world. They must become German or be killed. We will Germanize the world. Proud Dumkoff again shrugged her ample shoulders and attacked a big stew. Those mysterious soups and stews fairly sickened Miss Pym, and it was not a pretty sight watching the intellectuals gorging. Miss Pym recalled descriptions of Dahomians starving for a week in order the better to enjoy a banquet of roasted ox. She wondered whether these people had actually refrained from food, knowing they would eat amply at Cologne. Suddenly the proprietor approached Professor Schnucktuck and whispered something in his ear. Miss Pym thought it must be a police denunciation, but her neighbor's beaming countenance reassured her. The professor half rose from his chair, and looked at all the ugly care-worn faces with a benevolent smile. Ah, breathed Miss Pym, momentarily closing her eyes. He is going to announce a German victory. No, no, said Dr. Koitzig. Victories are announced daily, and no one believes in them. Our friend has something far more important than a German victory to tell us about. Old Schnucktuck's face was a study. The look of radiance, the half-closed eyes, the tongue passed to and fro over his thick lips. Ladies and gentlemen, Herr Miller has just told me that he is going to bring in a roast goose. The roars of the applause were deafening. Hock was repeated all along the table. Fill your glasses, shouted Schnucktuck. Everyone stood. Now drink to the goose, and each guest clinked glasses with his neighbor, some shouting, the goose, others, the Kaiser. When the proprietor entered, holding high the dish containing the goose, one good lady in a plaid marino dress with short puffed sleeves burst into tears. Miss Pym asked Dr. Koitzig in a low voice, Are they starving? Underfed, no doubt. But the good woman has had too much rind wine. It is very heady for all its apparent mildness. Miss Pym felt really shocked. You might have been a russian, or you might have been a Prussian, but you chose to be an English woman, said her monkey-faced neighbor. Yes, thank God! sighed Miss Pym. Ah! and a vowel at last, said the Socialist, with a twist of the face intended for a smile. Again Miss Pym blushed. What a poor conspirator she made. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of Miss Pym's Camouflage This Levervox recording is in the public domain. Miss Pym's Camouflage by Lady Dorothy Stanley. Chapter 16 Cologne, of course, was a military center, but Miss Pym felt nothing was to be gained by lingering there. Berlin was the central ganglion, where the ministers and the ministries could be visited and valuable information could be gathered. Of course the head of the War Office, Hindenburg, and his brain and voice, Ludendorff, would be away, but Berlin was the real headquarters. The Minister of the Navy, the Chancellor, the Kaiser, the Crown Prince, some one of these was sure to be at Berlin. After sleep of an inferior quality in the cupboard bedroom, Miss Pym rose unrefreshed. She dreaded meeting the Professor, because she had come down fully equipped for her journey to Berlin, and Herr Miller at her request was making out the bill. She had her coffee, that unsatisfactory substitute coffee, and nothing else. The schwan provided no bread or butter for those without cards, and it was only as a friend of the Professors that she had been allowed meat at the dinner. Miss Pym was sitting rather disconsolate, when Dr. Koitsich hobbled in and sat beside her. So you are off, tired of us. Is it not so? What have you nothing for breakfast? Want that beastly coffee? Here, Frau Miller, quick a decent breakfast for this lady. Cocoa of your best, and I saw a jug of milk going into your bureau. Come, the all-highest you know wishes neutrals to carry away a good impression of the Butterland. Oh, Herr Doctor, food is scarce in Cologne, whined the woman. But not at the schwan, retorted Koitsich, where the best food, the best cooking, and the best hotel proprietress in all Germany is to be found. Frau Miller smiled, and soon Miss Pym had excellent cocoa, a small hot cake of bread, some sardines, and marmalade. That's better, said Monkey Face grinning. Now, will you write a more favourable report on Cologne? You are very kind, Herr Doctor, replied Miss Pym, and I confess I am grateful. It is dreadful how my mind seems to run on food here in Germany, which proves you are human. Angli, known Angli. And where are you off to, if I may ask? I am taking the 940 to Berlin. Will you explain to Professor Schnumptuck that I simply had to go, that I am sorry I cannot attend the Congress? Oh, yes, I will tell him, and add that you are especially grieved not to hear his wonderful paper, which is likely to alter the whole situation in Europe and America, but that you are called to Potsdam by the all-highest. If you start early for the Central Station, and are willing to walk slowly, I will accompany you there. Everyone will say, what a lucky woman to have such a handsome companion. I shall be truly grateful, said Miss Pym, while knowing the help it would be to have a German chaperone. So with salutations to my host and his prowl, Miss Pym walked slowly down the Hockstrasse with her strange companion. Where shall you stay in Berlin? He asked. I hardly know. I shall try the Adlon. You will be in danger all the time you are in Berlin. You realize that? Yes. Miss Pym acknowledged it. And yet you go ahead. Dear me, what a people! What an enemy! Let's see here, there is a place where you may get a shelter and a bed, if you find yourself in danger. Merkelstrasse, a poor street close to the Spree. The address is on this piece of paper, and the password. Can you read it now and hear, so as to return me the paper? This is a secret emergency refuge for socialists. Liebnecht often went there, and many others. The genuine article. What make-believes like Scheidemann? In the shadow of the great Dom Kirke, Miss Pym read and reread the address, and the password, the flaming dawn is breaking. That is a poem written by a young socialist, a Jew boy who was shot dead in Berlin. Shall I repeat it to you? And with waving, quivering hands, quite sick, chanted in a vibrating voice, the flaming dawn is breaking. How many have died to see, the glorious Son of Freedom arise to make us free. How many died to save us, and if we would not fail, we too must die for liberty. That freedom may prevail. No tender love of woman, no happiness of home, no joy of little children, go forward all alone. Go forward in the darkness, until the rising sun dispels the night of tyranny, and liberty is won. Can you understand that, said the uncouth young man? Yes, I understand the words and the sentiment, replied Miss Pym. My only doubt is whether you are sufficiently numerous to win your freedom. The government here doesn't hesitate to shoot and imprison. You say the poet himself was shot dead, presumably in some rising. It seems to me the German people are too stolid and too timid. You are not a fearless people. Indeed I think Germans are highly nervy, as we call it. Quetzic was silent. He looked profoundly gloomy. In silence they reached the station. Miss Pym felt sorry for him. Dr. Quetzic, I think the dawn will come for Germany. It is very dark now, but Germany is not going to continue in darkness. After this war, men like you will perhaps be able to rouse the masses. Even if you die in the attempt, you will have helped Germany to win her deliverance. Thank you, he said quite simply. I believe what you say. I hate to think the Germans will shoot you in a prison-yard. I knew the risk I ran when I came, replied Miss Pym. But it is less than you suppose. Oh, you don't know Germans. We are thorough. Once in their net no fish escapes. Ah, well, you are a brave woman. If you get back to your country, write to me after the war. Now here is your train, a dreadfully overcrowded train. I will bribe the conductor. He hobbled off and perspiring freely from the unwanted exertion, hastened back mopping his big head and thick throat. Another carriage will be put on. She, here it advances. Conductor, see that this lady has every attention. She is an important neutral. A friend of Dr. McChialis. And Grand Admiral, Von Terpitz. The guard bowed low to Miss Pym. She climbed into the dirty, unswept carriage and waved her hand to the monkey-faced socialist as the train creaked and rattled out of the station. Miss Pym knew that the journey to Berlin would be long and tedious, but she had not bargained for nearly eighteen hours' traveling. At first she was interested to see the great Kohl country, where all the biggest steel and ironworks of Germany are crowded, working day and night. As the train approached, she even felt tempted to visit that formidable city to see Krupp's works in full blast. She could see the chimneys and roofs from the railway, and noted the protection of steel netting over roofs. The train soon passed on to Dortmund, where there was a few minutes' wait for lunch. But Miss Pym thought it wiser to nibble at her emergency rations, and not to leave her seat. The journey now became very worrisome. The arrival at Hanover did not interest her in the least. Afterwards at small stations she saw platoons of prisoners, some English, others, French, but the majority were Russian. The English still held their heads high. A German in the train observed, one would think to look at these English pig-dogs, that they were the conquerors, and that we were less than the dust. Did you ever see such arrogance? Now look at those Russians, how different they are. Simple-hearted peasants, grateful for small kindnesses, ready to smile, but these Englishmen think they own the world. Look at that unemotional self-control. Come, Adolf, let us spit at them as they pass. Let us show them we are men, not animals. And the two big, shabby Germans rose. One went to the door, the other to a window, which she let down, and they tried to spit far enough to reach the British prisoners, who quietly drew out of reach, and continued a low-voiced conversation together, never once glancing at the train. As Pym noted their haggard, unshaven faces, their extreme emaciation, and she could not repress her tears. Leaning back she covered her face with her handkerchief, as though she slept, and it was some time before her tears dried behind that cambrick veil.