THE WAITER AT THE CAFE REGINA
I calculated that I had at least two hours, at most three, in which to clear of Berlin. However Clubfoot might act, it would take him an hour and a half, I reckoned, from the of my from Haase's to the police at the railway to me. If I a false I might at the this period of grace; at the best I might him as to my destination, which was, of course, Düsseldorf. The unknown quantity in my was the time it would take Clubfoot to send out a all over Germany to Julius Zimmermann, waiter and deserter, and apprehended.
At the I came to after Haase's, tram-lines ran across the street. A tram was waiting, in a direction, where the centre of the city lay. I jumped on to the the woman driver. It is dark in and the cannot see your as you pay your through a in the door leading to the of the tram. I left the tram at Unter Linden and walked some until I came across a quiet-looking café. There I got a railway and set about my plans.
It was ten minutes to twelve. A man in my position would in all make for the frontier. So, I judged, Clubfoot must calculate, though, I fancied, he must have why I had not long since to to England. Düsseldorf was on the main road to Holland, and it would be the more course, say, to make for the Rhine and travel on to my by a Rhine steamer. But time was the in my case. By immediately—that very night—for Düsseldorf I might possibly there the local had had time to the to be on the look-out for a man to my description. If I in Berlin a good false clue, it was just possible that Clubfoot might it up taking to secure my if that failed. I I must on this hypothesis.
The railway that a train left for Düsseldorf from the Potsdamer Bahnhof—the great railway in the very centre of Berlin—at 12.45 a.m. That left me three-quarters of an hour to my false and catch my train. My false should lead Clubfoot in a totally direction, I determined, for it is the that the notice of the alert, type of mind. I would also have to select another terminus.
Why not Munich? A large city on the high road to a frontier—Switzerland—with easy-going are in Germany. You Berlin for Munich from the Anhalter Bahnhof, a which was well for my purpose, as it is only a minutes' drive from the Potsdamer station.
The railway there was a train for Munich at 12.30 a.m.—an express. That would do admirably. Munich it should be then.
Fortunately I had of money. I had taken the of Kore to my money into German notes we left In Zelten ... at a of exchange, be it said. How I should have been without Semlin's of notes!
I paid for my coffee and set again. It was 12.15 as I walked into the of the Anhalt station.
Remembering the which the at Rotterdam had me, I by purchasing a ticket. Then I looked about for an official upon I my identity. Presently I a pompous-looking in a and cap, some of junior stationmaster, I thought.
I approached him and, my hat, asked him if he tell me when there was a train for Munich.
"The goes at 12.30," he said, "but only and second class, and you'll have to pay the charge. The slow train is not till 5.49."
I an of vexation.
"I I must go by the express," I said. "Can you tell me where the booking-office is?"
The official pointed to a pigeon-hole and I took to speak loud for him to me ask for a second-class ticket, single, to Munich.
I walked and presented my Munich ticket to the at the barrier. Then I past the main-line over the side, where I gave up my ticket and again to the street.
It was just on the half-hour as I came out of the station. Not a to be seen! I as fast as my would me until, and panting, I the Potsdam terminus. The clock over the station pointed to 12.39.
A long queue, mostly of soldiers returning to Belgium and the front, in of the booking-office. The were their for tickets. I at the delay, but it was actually this which me the of my ticket for Düsseldorf without any behind.
A big, Landsturm man with a was at the pigeon-hole.
"I am very late for my train, my friend," I said, "would you me a third-class single for Düsseldorf?" I him a twenty-mark note.
"Right you are," he answered readily.
"There," he said, me my ticket and a of change, "and lucky you are to be going to the Rhine. I'm from the Rhine myself and now I'm going to the in Belgium!"
I thanked him and him luck. Here at least was a who was not likely to trouble me. And with a I on to the and the train.
Third-class travel in Germany is not a hobby to be if your means allow the luxury of accommodation. The German has a of taking off his when he in the train by night—and a of middle-class Huns, thus unshod, in the temperature at which railway are in Germany, is an which makes neither for for sleep.
The atmosphere, indeed, was so that I most of the night in the corridor. Here I was able to the papers of Julius Zimmermann, waiter ... I I was in I had them on me ... and to myself that my document was in its place—in my portfolio. It was then I the discovery, at the shock, that my had disappeared. I not what I had done with it in the of my from Haase's. I having it in my hand and it to the police at the top of the stairs, but after that my mind was a blank. I only I must have it in my hand and then it unwittingly. I looked at the place where it had been on my braces: it was not there and I all my pockets for it in vain.
I had upon it as a stand-by in case there were trouble at the station in Düsseldorf. Now I myself if I were challenged. It was a hard knock, but I myself by the that, by now, Clubfoot I had this ... it would in any about me.
It was a most journey. There was some of on the train, seven or eight of the third-class coach in which I was travelling. For the hours they night with part-songs, and with a of that in that place was deafening. Then the noise as one by one the singers off to sleep. Presently fell, while the train in the me fresh perils, fresh adventures.
A of fresh air in my face, the of feet, loud in German, me with a start. It was and through my compartment, to which I had in the night, with standing, the members of the society, with in their hands and in their buttonholes. There was a on the and a of men who a stentorian-voiced of greeting. "Düsseldorf" was the name printed on the station lamps.
All the passengers, save the members of the society, had left the train, apparently, for every door open. I to my and let myself go with the of men. Thus I out of the train and right into the of the of bandsmen, singers and on the platform. I with the new until the was ended and thus encadrés by the Düsseldorfers, we out through the into the station courtyard. There were waiting into which the choristers, guests and hosts, noisily. But I walked on into the streets, able to that no one had questioned me, that at last, unhindered, I my goal.
Düsseldorf is a bright, clean town with a touch of good taste in its public to one that this busy, city has time while making money to have called into being a of art of its own. It was a with and an in the air that spoke of the swift, river that the city walls. I in the clear, cold after the of the drinking-den and the of the journey. I in the of I at having once more the of Clubfoot. Above all, my sang me at the of an early meeting with Francis. In the mood I was in, I would admit no possibility of now. Francis and I would come together at last.
I came upon a public square presently and there me was a great, big café, white and new and dazzling, with large plate-glass and of tables on a outside. It was a "kolossal" after the best Berlin style. So that there might be no mistake about the name it was all over the of the place in three high on panels—Café Regina.
It was about nine o'clock in the and at that early hour I had the place to myself. I very small, at a table, with tables on every of me, away as it were into the Ewigkeit, in a white room with paintings of the of impressionism.
I ordered a good, and away the time while it was by at the paper which the waiter me.
My ran the without my what I read, for my were with Francis. When did he come to the café? How was he at Düsseldorf?
Suddenly, I myself looking at a name I ... it was in the personal paragraphs.
"Lieut.-General Count Boden," the paragraph ran, "Aide-de-Camp to H.M. the Emperor, has been on the retired list to ill-health. General Boden has left for Abbazia, where he will take up his permanent residence." There the notes.
Of a truth, Clubfoot was a power in the land.
I ate my at a table by the open door, and the life of the square where the in the sunshine. A waiter on the the as they at the stones. I was with the in his face. His were and he had a look which I had in the of most of the at Haase's. I set it to the which is among the in Germany to-day.
But in to this man's appearance, his were hollow, there were lines about his mouth and he a look that had something about it. His air of to me, and I my to his face.
And then, without warning, through some of the blood, the truth came to me that this was my brother. I don't know it was a mood in his or the shifting lights and in his that the veil. I only know that through those by and and in of them I a of the I had come to seek.
I a spoon on the table and called out to the verandah.
"Kellner!"
The man turned.
I to him. He came over to my table. He me, so was he with ... me with my unshaven, and in my German ... but silently, my bidding.
"Francis," I said ... and I spoke in German ... "Francis, don't you know me?"
He was magnificent, and in his at our meeting as he had been in his months of waiting.
Only his mouth a little as his hands themselves with away my breakfast.
"Jawohl!" he answered in a perfectly voice.
And then he and in a the old Francis me.
"Not a word now," he said in German as he away the breakfast. "I am off this afternoon. Meet me on the river by the Schiller at a past two and we'll go for a walk. Don't here now but come and in the restaurant ... it's always and safe!"
Then he called out into the void:
"Twenty-six wants to pay!"
Such was my meeting with my brother.
