"You must be a dam' cool hand!"

But he didn't bluff me, staggered though I was. I said quickly in
German:

"What do you want with me? I don't understand you. If you annoy me any
more I shall call the police!"

Again he spoke in English and it was the voice of a well-bred Englishman
that spoke:

"You're either a past master at the game or raving mad. Why! the whole
station is humming after you! Yet you walked out of the buffet and
through the whole lot of them without turning a hair. No wonder they
never spotted you!"

Again I answered in German:

"Ich verstehe nicht!"

But he went on in English, without seeming to notice my observation:

"Hang it all, man, you can't go into Germany wearing a regimental tie!"

My hand flew to my collar and the blood to my head. What a cursed
amateur I was, after all! I had entirely forgotten that I was wearing my
regimental colours. I was crimson with vexation but also with a sense of
relief. I felt I might trust this man. It would be a sharp German agent
who would notice a small detail like that.