foreign languages.'

I took the thing and turned over the pages, trying to keep any
sign of intelligence out of my face. It was German right enough, a
little manual of hydrography with no publisher's name on it. It had
the look of the kind of textbook a Government department might
issue to its officials.

I handed it back. 'It's either German or Dutch. I'm not much of
a scholar, barring a little French and the Latin I got at Heriot's
Hospital ... This is an awful slow train, Mr Linklater.'

The soldiers were playing nap, and the bagman proposed a game
of cards. I remembered in time that I was an elder in the Nethergate
U.F. Church and refused with some asperity. After that I shut my
eyes again, for I wanted to think out this new phenomenon.

The fellow knew German - that was clear. He had also been seen
in Gresson's company. I didn't believe he suspected me, though I
suspected him profoundly. It was my business to keep strictly to
my part and give him no cause to doubt me. He was clearly
practising his own part on me, and I must appear to take him
literally on his professions. So, presently, I woke up and engaged
him in a disputatious conversation about the morality of selling
strong liquors. He responded readily, and put the case for alcohol
with much point and vehemence. The discussion interested the
soldiers, and one of them, to show he was on Linklater's side,
produced a flask and offered him a drink. I concluded by observing
morosely that the bagman had been a better man when he peddled
books for Alexander Matheson, and that put the closure on the business.