With a laugh Gustav replied: “You talk like a book, my boy. It is a pleasure and a privilege to drink at such a fount of wisdom. And perhaps there is even something in what you say. But now kindly reload your piece. You are rather too dreamy for my taste. Any moment may bring a few buck, and we cannot kill them with philosophy. We must have ball in our barrels.”

A car came and was dropped at once. The road was blocked. A survivor, a stout red-faced man, gesticulated wildly over the ruins. Then he stared up and down and, discovering our hiding place, came for us bellowing and shooting up at us with a revolver.

“Get off with you or I’ll shoot,” Gustav shouted down. The man took aim at him and fired again. Then we shot him.

After this two more came and were bagged. Then the road was silent and deserted. Apparently the news had got about that it was dangerous. We had time to enjoy the beauty of the view. On the far side of the lake a small town lay in the valley. Smoke rose from it and soon we saw fire leaping from roof to roof. Shooting could be heard. Dora cried a little and I stroked her wet cheeks.

“Have we all got to die then?” she asked. There was no reply. Meanwhile a man on foot went past below. He saw the smashed-up motorcars and began nosing round them. Leaning over into one of them he pulled out a gay parasol, a ladies’ handbag and a bottle of wine. Then he sat down contentedly on the wall, took a drink from the bottle and ate something wrapped in tinfoil out of the handbag. After emptying the bottle he went on, well pleased, with the parasol clasped under his arm; and I said to Gustav: “Could you find it in you to shoot at this good fellow and make a hole in his head? God knows, I couldn’t.”