I murmured: "Hardly."

"You must possess infinite tact to have aroused no suspicion," said the
Major.

"That depends," I said.

"Pardon me," replied the Major, in whom I began to recognize all the
signs of an unmitigated gossip, "I know something of the importance of
your mission. I speak amongst ourselves, is it not so, gentlemen? There
were special orders about you from the Corps Command at Münster. Your
special has been waiting for you here for four days. The gentleman who
came to meet you has been in a fever of expectation. He had already left
the station this morning when ... when I met you, I sent word for him to
pick you up here."

The plot was thickening. I most certainly was a personage of note.

"What part of America do you come from, Mr. Semlin?" said a voice in
perfect English from the corner. The one-armed officer was speaking.

"From Brooklyn," I said stoutly, though my heart seemed turned to ice
with the shock of hearing my own tongue.

"You have no accent," the other replied suavely.

"Some Americans," I retorted sententiously, "would regard that as a
compliment. Not all Americans talk through their noses any more than we
all chew or spit in public."