"You must have a good ear for languages," Schmalz continued; "you speak
German like a German and English ..." he paused appreciably, "... like
an Englishman."

I felt horribly nervous. This young man never took his eyes off me: he
had been staring at me ever since I had entered the room. His manner
was perfectly calm and suave.

Still I kept my end up very creditably, I think.

"And not a bad accomplishment, either," I said, smiling brightly, "if
one has to visit London in war-time."

Schmalz smiled back with perfect courtesy. But he continued to stare
relentlessly at me. I felt scared.

"What is Schmalz jabbering about now?" said one of the dug-outs. I
translated for the benefit of the company. My résumé gave the dug-out
who had spoken the opportunity for launching out on an interminable
anecdote about an ulster he had bought on a holiday at Brighton. The
story lasted until the white-gloved orderly came and announced that "a
gentleman" was there, asking for the Herr Major.

"That'll be your man," exclaimed the Major, starting up--I noticed he
made no attempt to bring the stranger in. "Come, let us go to him!"

I stood up and took my leave. Schmalz came to the door of the anteroom
with us.