i was standing stark naked next morning in that icy bedroom, trying to bathe in about a quart of water, when stumm entered. he strode up to me and stared me in the face. i was half a head shorter than him to begin with, and a man does not feel his stoutest when he has no clothes, so he had the pull on me every way.

“i have reason to believe that you are a liar,” he growled.

i pulled the bed-cover round me, for i was shivering with cold, and the german idea of a towel is a pocket-handkerchief. i own i was in a pretty blue funk.

“a liar!” he repeated. “you and that swine pienaar.”

with my best effort at surliness i asked what we had done.

“you lied, because you said you know no german. apparently your friend knows enough to talk treason and blasphemy.”

this gave me back some heart.

“i told you i knew a dozen words. but i told you peter could talk it a bit. i told you that yesterday at the station.” fervently i blessed my luck for that casual remark.

he evidently remembered, for his tone became a trifle more civil.

“you are a precious pair. if one of you is a scoundrel, why not the other?”

“i take no responsibility for peter,” i said. i felt i was a cad in saying it, but that was the bargain we had made at the start. “i have known him for years as a great hunter and a brave man. i knew he fought well against the english. but more i cannot tell you. you have to judge him for yourself. what has he done?”

i was told, for stumm had got it that morning on the telephone. while telling it he was kind enough to allow me to put on my trousers.

it was just the sort of thing i might have foreseen. peter, left alone, had become first bored and then reckless. he had persuaded the lieutenant to take him out to supper at a big berlin restaurant. there, inspired by the lights and music—novel things for a backveld hunter—and no doubt bored stiff by his company, he had proceeded to get drunk. that had happened in my experience with peter about once in every three years, and it always happened for the same reason. peter, bored and solitary in a town, went on the spree. he had a head like a rock, but he got to the required condition by wild mixing. he was quite a gentleman in his cups, and not in the least violent, but he was apt to be very free with his tongue. and that was what occurred at the franciscana.

he had begun by insulting the emperor, it seemed. he drank his health, but said he reminded him of a wart-hog, and thereby scarified the lieutenant’s soul. then an officer—some tremendous swell at an adjoining table had objected to his talking so loud, and peter had replied insolently in respectable german. after that things became mixed. there was some kind of a fight, during which peter calumniated the german army and all its female ancestry. how he wasn’t shot or run through i can’t imagine, except that the lieutenant loudly proclaimed that he was a crazy boer. anyhow the upshot was that peter was marched off to gaol, and i was left in a pretty pickle.

“i don’t believe a word of it,” i said firmly. i had most of my clothes on now and felt more courageous. “it is all a plot to get him into disgrace and draft him off to the front.”

stumm did not storm as i expected, but smiled.

“that was always his destiny,” he said, “ever since i saw him. he was no use to us except as a man with a rifle. cannon-fodder, nothing else. do you imagine, you fool, that this great empire in the thick of a world-war is going to trouble its head to lay snares for an ignorant traakhaar?”

“i wash my hands of him,” i said. “if what you say of his folly is true i have no part in it. but he was my companion and i wish him well. what do you propose to do with him?”

“we will keep him under our eye,” he said, with a wicked twist of the mouth. “i have a notion that there is more at the back of this than appears. we will investigate the antecedents of herr pienaar. and you, too, my friend. on you also we have our eye.”

i did the best thing i could have done, for what with anxiety and disgust i lost my temper.

“look here, sir,” i cried, “i’ve had about enough of this. i came to germany abominating the english and burning to strike a blow for you. but you haven’t given me much cause to love you. for the last two days i’ve had nothing from you but suspicion and insult. the only decent man i’ve met is herr gaudian. it’s because i believe that there are many in germany like him that i’m prepared to go on with this business and do the best i can. but, by god, i wouldn’t raise my little finger for your sake.”

he looked at me very steadily for a minute. “that sounds like honesty,” he said at last in a civil voice. “you had better come down and get your coffee.”

i was safe for the moment but in very low spirits. what on earth would happen to poor old peter? i could do nothing even if i wanted, and, besides, my first duty was to my mission. i had made this very clear to him at lisbon and he had agreed, but all the same it was a beastly reflection. here was that ancient worthy left to the tender mercies of the people he most detested on earth. my only comfort was that they couldn’t do very much with him. if they sent him to the front, which was the worst they could do, he would escape, for i would have backed him to get through any mortal lines. it wasn’t much fun for me either. only when i was to be deprived of it did i realize how much his company had meant to me. i was absolutely alone now, and i didn’t like it. i seemed to have about as much chance of joining blenkiron and sandy as of flying to the moon.

after breakfast i was told to get ready. when i asked where i was going stumm advised me to mind my own business, but i remembered that last night he had talked of taking me home with him and giving me my orders. i wondered where his home was.

gaudian patted me on the back when we started and wrung my hand. he was a capital good fellow, and it made me feel sick to think that i was humbugging him. we got into the same big grey car, with stumm’s servant sitting beside the chauffeur. it was a morning of hard frost, the bare fields were white with rime, and the fir-trees powdered like a wedding-cake. we took a different road from the night before, and after a run of half a dozen miles came to a little town with a big railway station. it was a junction on some main line, and after five minutes’ waiting we found our train. once again we were alone in the carriage. stumm must have had some colossal graft, for the train was crowded.

i had another three hours of complete boredom. i dared not smoke, and could do nothing but stare out of the window. we soon got into hilly country, where a good deal of snow was lying. it was the 23rd day of december, and even in war time one had a sort of feel of christmas. you could see girls carrying evergreens, and when we stopped at a station the soldiers on leave had all the air of holiday making. the middle of germany was a cheerier place than berlin or the western parts. i liked the look of the old peasants, and the women in their neat sunday best, but i noticed, too, how pinched they were. here in the country, where no neutral tourists came, there was not the same stage-management as in the capital.

stumm made an attempt to talk to me on the journey. i could see his aim. before this he had cross-examined me, but now he wanted to draw me into ordinary conversation. he had no notion how to do it. he was either peremptory and provocative, like a drill-sergeant, or so obviously diplomatic that any fool would have been put on his guard. that is the weakness of the german. he has no gift for laying himself alongside different types of men. he is such a hard-shell being that he cannot put out feelers to his kind. he may have plenty of brains, as stumm had, but he has the poorest notion of psychology of any of god’s creatures. in germany only the jew can get outside himself, and that is why, if you look into the matter, you will find that the jew is at the back of most german enterprises.

after midday we stopped at a station for luncheon. we had a very good meal in the restaurant, and when we were finishing two officers entered. stumm got up and saluted and went aside to talk to them. then he came back and made me follow him to a waiting-room, where he told me to stay till he fetched me. i noticed that he called a porter and had the door locked when he went out.

it was a chilly place with no fire, and i kicked my heels there for twenty minutes. i was living by the hour now, and did not trouble to worry about this strange behaviour. there was a volume of time-tables on a shelf, and i turned the pages idly till i struck a big railway map. then it occurred to me to find out where we were going. i had heard stumm take my ticket for a place called schwandorf, and after a lot of searching i found it. it was away south in bavaria, and so far as i could make out less than fifty miles from the danube. that cheered me enormously. if stumm lived there he would most likely start me off on my travels by the railway which i saw running to vienna and then on to the east. it looked as if i might get to constantinople after all. but i feared it would be a useless achievement, for what could i do when i got there? i was being hustled out of germany without picking up the slenderest clue.

the door opened and stumm entered. he seemed to have got bigger in the interval and to carry his head higher. there was a proud light, too, in his eye.

“brandt,” he said, “you are about to receive the greatest privilege that ever fell to one of your race. his imperial majesty is passing through here, and has halted for a few minutes. he has done me the honour to receive me, and when he heard my story he expressed a wish to see you. you will follow me to his presence. do not be afraid. the all-highest is merciful and gracious. answer his questions like a man.”

i followed him with a quickened pulse. here was a bit of luck i had never dreamed of. at the far side of the station a train had drawn up, a train consisting of three big coaches, chocolate-coloured and picked out with gold. on the platform beside it stood a small group of officers, tall men in long grey-blue cloaks. they seemed to be mostly elderly, and one or two of the faces i thought i remembered from photographs in the picture papers.

as we approached they drew apart, and left us face to face with one man. he was a little below middle height, and all muffled in a thick coat with a fur collar. he wore a silver helmet with an eagle atop of it, and kept his left hand resting on his sword. below the helmet was a face the colour of grey paper, from which shone curious sombre restless eyes with dark pouches beneath them. there was no fear of my mistaking him. these were the features which, since napoleon, have been best known to the world.

i stood as stiff as a ramrod and saluted. i was perfectly cool and most desperately interested. for such a moment i would have gone through fire and water.

“majesty, this is the dutchman i spoke of,” i heard stumm say.

“what language does he speak?” the emperor asked.

“dutch,” was the reply; “but being a south african he also speaks english.”

a spasm of pain seemed to flit over the face before me. then he addressed me in english.

“you have come from a land which will yet be our ally to offer your sword to our service? i accept the gift and hail it as a good omen. i would have given your race its freedom, but there were fools and traitors among you who misjudged me. but that freedom i shall yet give you in spite of yourselves. are there many like you in your country?”

“there are thousands, sire,” i said, lying cheerfully. “i am one of many who think that my race’s life lies in your victory. and i think that that victory must be won not in europe alone. in south africa for the moment there is no chance, so we look to other parts of the continent. you will win in europe. you have won in the east, and it now remains to strike the english where they cannot fend the blow. if we take uganda, egypt will fall. by your permission i go there to make trouble for your enemies.”

a flicker of a smile passed over the worn face. it was the face of one who slept little and whose thoughts rode him like a nightmare. “that is well,” he said. “some englishman once said that he would call in the new world to redress the balance of the old. we germans will summon the whole earth to suppress the infamies of england. serve us well, and you will not be forgotten.”

then he suddenly asked: “did you fight in the last south african war?”

“yes, sir,” i said. “i was in the commando of that smuts who has now been bought by england.”

“what were your countrymen’s losses?” he asked eagerly.

i did not know, but i hazarded a guess. “in the field some twenty thousand. but many more by sickness and in the accursed prison-camps of the english.”

again a spasm of pain crossed his face.

“twenty thousand,” he repeated huskily. “a mere handful. today we lose as many in a skirmish in the polish marshes.”

then he broke out fiercely.

“i did not seek the war ... it was forced on me ... i laboured for peace ... the blood of millions is on the heads of england and russia, but england most of all. god will yet avenge it. he that takes the sword will perish by the sword. mine was forced from the scabbard in self-defence, and i am guiltless. do they know that among your people?”

“all the world knows it, sire,” i said.

he gave his hand to stumm and turned away. the last i saw of him was a figure moving like a sleep-walker, with no spring in his step, amid his tall suite. i felt that i was looking on at a far bigger tragedy than any i had seen in action. here was one that had loosed hell, and the furies of hell had got hold of him. he was no common man, for in his presence i felt an attraction which was not merely the mastery of one used to command. that would not have impressed me, for i had never owned a master. but here was a human being who, unlike stumm and his kind, had the power of laying himself alongside other men. that was the irony of it. stumm would not have cared a tinker’s curse for all the massacres in history. but this man, the chief of a nation of stumms, paid the price in war for the gifts that had made him successful in peace. he had imagination and nerves, and the one was white hot and the others were quivering. i would not have been in his shoes for the throne of the universe ...

all afternoon we sped southward, mostly in a country of hills and wooded valleys. stumm, for him, was very pleasant. his imperial master must have been gracious to him, and he passed a bit of it on to me. but he was anxious to see that i had got the right impression.

“the all-highest is merciful, as i told you,” he said.

i agreed with him.

“mercy is the prerogative of kings,” he said sententiously, “but for us lesser folks it is a trimming we can well do without.”

i nodded my approval.

“i am not merciful,” he went on, as if i needed telling that. “if any man stands in my way i trample the life out of him. that is the german fashion. that is what has made us great. we do not make war with lavender gloves and fine phrases, but with hard steel and hard brains. we germans will cure the green-sickness of the world. the nations rise against us. pouf! they are soft flesh, and flesh cannot resist iron. the shining ploughshare will cut its way through acres of mud.”

i hastened to add that these were also my opinions.

“what the hell do your opinions matter? you are a thick-headed boor of the veld ... not but what,” he added, “there is metal in you slow dutchmen once we germans have had the forging of it!”

the winter evening closed in, and i saw that we had come out of the hills and were in flat country. sometimes a big sweep of river showed, and, looking out at one station i saw a funny church with a thing like an onion on top of its spire. it might almost have been a mosque, judging from the pictures i remembered of mosques. i wished to heaven i had given geography more attention in my time.

presently we stopped, and stumm led the way out. the train must have been specially halted for him, for it was a one-horse little place whose name i could not make out. the station-master was waiting, bowing and saluting, and outside was a motor-car with big head-lights. next minute we were sliding through dark woods where the snow lay far deeper than in the north. there was a mild frost in the air, and the tyres slipped and skidded at the corners.

we hadn’t far to go. we climbed a little hill and on the top of it stopped at the door of a big black castle. it looked enormous in the winter night, with not a light showing anywhere on its front. the door was opened by an old fellow who took a long time about it and got well cursed for his slowness. inside the place was very noble and ancient. stumm switched on the electric light, and there was a great hall with black tarnished portraits of men and women in old-fashioned clothes, and mighty horns of deer on the walls.

there seemed to be no superfluity of servants. the old fellow said that food was ready, and without more ado we went into the dining-room—another vast chamber with rough stone walls above the panelling—and found some cold meats on the table beside a big fire. the servant presently brought in a ham omelette, and on that and the cold stuff we dined. i remember there was nothing to drink but water. it puzzled me how stumm kept his great body going on the very moderate amount of food he ate. he was the type you expect to swill beer by the bucket and put away a pie in a sitting.

when we had finished, he rang for the old man and told him that we should be in the study for the rest of the evening. “you can lock up and go to bed when you like,” he said, “but see you have coffee ready at seven sharp in the morning.”

ever since i entered that house i had the uncomfortable feeling of being in a prison. here was i alone in this great place with a fellow who could, and would, wring my neck if he wanted. berlin and all the rest of it had seemed comparatively open country; i had felt that i could move freely and at the worst make a bolt for it. but here i was trapped, and i had to tell myself every minute that i was there as a friend and colleague. the fact is, i was afraid of stumm, and i don’t mind admitting it. he was a new thing in my experience and i didn’t like it. if only he had drunk and guzzled a bit i should have been happier.

we went up a staircase to a room at the end of a long corridor. stumm locked the door behind him and laid the key on the table. that room took my breath away, it was so unexpected. in place of the grim bareness of downstairs here was a place all luxury and colour and light. it was very large, but low in the ceiling, and the walls were full of little recesses with statues in them. a thick grey carpet of velvet pile covered the floor, and the chairs were low and soft and upholstered like a lady’s boudoir. a pleasant fire burned on the hearth and there was a flavour of scent in the air, something like incense or burnt sandalwood. a french clock on the mantelpiece told me that it was ten minutes past eight. everywhere on little tables and in cabinets was a profusion of knickknacks, and there was some beautiful embroidery framed on screens. at first sight you would have said it was a woman’s drawing-room.

but it wasn’t. i soon saw the difference. there had never been a woman’s hand in that place. it was the room of a man who had a passion for frippery, who had a perverted taste for soft delicate things. it was the complement to his bluff brutality. i began to see the queer other side to my host, that evil side which gossip had spoken of as not unknown in the german army. the room seemed a horribly unwholesome place, and i was more than ever afraid of stumm.

the hearthrug was a wonderful old persian thing, all faint greens and pinks. as he stood on it he looked uncommonly like a bull in a china-shop. he seemed to bask in the comfort of it, and sniffed like a satisfied animal. then he sat down at an escritoire, unlocked a drawer and took out some papers.

“we will now settle your business, friend brandt,” he said. “you will go to egypt and there take your orders from one whose name and address are in this envelope. this card,” and he lifted a square piece of grey pasteboard with a big stamp at the corner and some code words stencilled on it, “will be your passport. you will show it to the man you seek. keep it jealously, and never use it save under orders or in the last necessity. it is your badge as an accredited agent of the german crown.”

i took the card and the envelope and put them in my pocket-book.

“where do i go after egypt?” i asked.

“that remains to be seen. probably you will go up the blue nile. riza, the man you will meet, will direct you. egypt is a nest of our agents who work peacefully under the nose of the english secret service.”

“i am willing,” i said. “but how do i reach egypt?”

“you will travel by holland and london. here is your route,” and he took a paper from his pocket. “your passports are ready and will be given you at the frontier.”

this was a pretty kettle of fish. i was to be packed off to cairo by sea, which would take weeks, and god knows how i would get from egypt to constantinople. i saw all my plans falling to pieces about my ears, and just when i thought they were shaping nicely.

stumm must have interpreted the look on my face as fear.

“you have no cause to be afraid,” he said. “we have passed the word to the english police to look out for a suspicious south african named brandt, one of maritz’s rebels. it is not difficult to have that kind of a hint conveyed to the proper quarter. but the description will not be yours. your name will be van der linden, a respectable java merchant going home to his plantations after a visit to his native shores. you had better get your dossier by heart, but i guarantee you will be asked no questions. we manage these things well in germany.”

i kept my eyes on the fire, while i did some savage thinking. i knew they would not let me out of their sight till they saw me in holland, and, once there, there would be no possibility of getting back. when i left this house i would have no chance of giving them the slip. and yet i was well on my way to the east, the danube could not be fifty miles off, and that way ran the road to constantinople. it was a fairly desperate position. if i tried to get away stumm would prevent me, and the odds were that i would go to join peter in some infernal prison-camp.

those moments were some of the worst i ever spent. i was absolutely and utterly baffled, like a rat in a trap. there seemed nothing for it but to go back to london and tell sir walter the game was up. and that was about as bitter as death.

he saw my face and laughed. “does your heart fail you, my little dutchman? you funk the english? i will tell you one thing for your comfort. there is nothing in the world to be feared except me. fail, and you have cause to shiver. play me false and you had far better never have been born.”

his ugly sneering face was close above mine. then he put out his hands and gripped my shoulders as he had done the first afternoon.

i forget if i mentioned that part of the damage i got at loos was a shrapnel bullet low down at the back of my neck. the wound had healed well enough, but i had pains there on a cold day. his fingers found the place and it hurt like hell.

there is a very narrow line between despair and black rage. i had about given up the game, but the sudden ache of my shoulders gave me purpose again. he must have seen the rage in my eyes, for his own became cruel.

“the weasel would like to bite,” he cried. “but the poor weasel has found its master. stand still, vermin. smile, look pleasant, or i will make pulp of you. do you dare to frown at me?”

i shut my teeth and said never a word. i was choking in my throat and could not have uttered a syllable if i had tried.

then he let me go, grinning like an ape.

i stepped back a pace and gave him my left between the eyes.

for a second he did not realize what had happened, for i don’t suppose anyone had dared to lift a hand to him since he was a child. he blinked at me mildly. then his face grew as red as fire.

“god in heaven,” he said quietly. “i am going to kill you,” and he flung himself on me like a mountain.

i was expecting him and dodged the attack. i was quite calm now, but pretty helpless. the man had a gorilla’s reach and could give me at least a couple of stone. he wasn’t soft either, but looked as hard as granite. i was only just from hospital and absurdly out of training. he would certainly kill me if he could, and i saw nothing to prevent him.

my only chance was to keep him from getting to grips, for he could have squeezed in my ribs in two seconds. i fancied i was lighter on my legs than him, and i had a good eye. black monty at kimberley had taught me to fight a bit, but there is no art on earth which can prevent a big man in a narrow space from sooner or later cornering a lesser one. that was the danger.

backwards and forwards we padded on the soft carpet. he had no notion of guarding himself, and i got in a good few blows.

then i saw a queer thing. every time i hit him he blinked and seemed to pause. i guessed the reason for that. he had gone through life keeping the crown of the causeway, and nobody had ever stood up to him. he wasn’t a coward by a long chalk, but he was a bully, and had never been struck in his life. he was getting struck now in real earnest, and he didn’t like it. he had lost his bearings and was growing as mad as a hatter.

i kept half an eye on the clock. i was hopeful now, and was looking for the right kind of chance. the risk was that i might tire sooner than him and be at his mercy.

then i learned a truth i have never forgotten. if you are fighting a man who means to kill you, he will be apt to down you unless you mean to kill him too. stumm did not know any rules to this game, and i forgot to allow for that. suddenly, when i was watching his eyes, he launched a mighty kick at my stomach. if he had got me, this yarn would have had an abrupt ending. but by the mercy of god i was moving sideways when he let out, and his heavy boot just grazed my left thigh.

it was the place where most of the shrapnel had lodged, and for a second i was sick with pain and stumbled. then i was on my feet again but with a new feeling in my blood. i had to smash stumm or never sleep in my bed again.

i got a wonderful power from this new cold rage of mine. i felt i couldn’t tire, and i danced round and dotted his face till it was streaming with blood. his bulky padded chest was no good to me, so i couldn’t try for the mark.

he began to snort now and his breath came heavily. “you infernal cad,” i said in good round english, “i’m going to knock the stuffing out of you,” but he didn’t know what i was saying.

then at last he gave me my chance. he half tripped over a little table and his face stuck forward. i got him on the point of the chin, and put every ounce of weight i possessed behind the blow. he crumpled up in a heap and rolled over, upsetting a lamp and knocking a big china jar in two. his head, i remember, lay under the escritoire from which he had taken my passport.

i picked up the key and unlocked the door. in one of the gilded mirrors i smoothed my hair and tidied up my clothes. my anger had completely gone and i had no particular ill-will left against stumm. he was a man of remarkable qualities, which would have brought him to the highest distinction in the stone age. but for all that he and his kind were back numbers.

i stepped out of the room, locked the door behind me, and started out on the second stage of my travels.