Introductions
White light poured over us. Squinting into it, I saw the automobile standing down the road, its spotlight turned on me and my sparring partner. A big man in green and gold came into the light—the florid officer who had been one of Grantham’s companions in the restaurant. An automatic was in one of his hands.
He strode over to us, stiff-legged in his high boots, ignored the soldier on the ground, and examined me carefully with sharp little dark eyes.
“British?” he asked.
“American.”
He bit a corner of his mustache and said meaninglessly:
“Yes, that is better.”
His English was guttural, with a German accent.
Lionel Grantham came from the car to us. His face wasn’t as pink as it had been.
“What is it?” he asked the officer, but he looked at me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I took a stroll after dinner and got mixed up on my directions. Finding myself out here, I decided I was headed the wrong way. When I turned around to go back I saw this fellow duck behind the lumber pile. He had a gun in his hand. I took him for a stickup, so I played Indian on him. Just as I got to him he jumped up and began