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understand.”

“Oh, quite, quite. Tell me, what is all this uncivil disturbance?”

“The Purge,” said Hambledon solemnly. “You will understand that in the body politic, as

in the human body, undesirable elements agglomerate—accumulate—of which we wish to rid

ourselves. So we take the necessary steps.”

“Lead pills, eh? Couldn’t you have done anything to prevent it?”

“On the contrary, I architec—engineered it. There are some people the Government

would be better without. In fact, most of the Government would be nicer in a state of peace. So I

thought.”

“D’you mean to say you’re responsible for that unpleasantness in the window? Surely

not, von Einem—”

“Von Einem was my friend,” said Hambledon harshly, “and those who killed him will

pay, do not be afraid. This Purge has gone wrong a little. I thought the Brown-shirts would do

best, but the Black Guards have done best instead. So many things have happened I did not

intend. In fact, every step I hear on the stairs, I stroll out to meet them with both my hands in my

pockets, you understand? If I go I will take an escort with me.”

“Splendid,” said Denton approvingly. “Two-gun Sid in the flesh. I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Not at all,” said Hambledon, laughing. “If you knew how nice it is to meet someone

who is not afraid of one! I am so tired of people who either bully or cringe. Look, I must go or

your so charming lady will catch me, and then the cat would be in the soup, eh? Best of luck, and

tell the Department I will come back and report some day, please God. Good-bye.”

Denton was left alone in the dark again, but when he had time to notice himself he found

that he had entirely left off shaking, and that the obstruction on the grating was no longer an

obscene honor but just some man he didn’t know. It seemed only a short time before he heard

steps on the stairs and a light appeared in a broken fanlight over the door. Denton stood up as

there came the rattle of a key in the lock. “Herr Dedler, are you there?”

“Yes, Fräulein Weber,” he answered, and bowed politely, which was a mistake, for he

immediately turned giddy and staggered straight into the girl’s arms.

“Oh!” she said, pushing him off. “How could you when I’ve only come to help you?”

“I beg your pardon, I do indeed. The action was quite unintentional, it was really.”

She turned her torch on his face, which was quite white where it was not streaked with

coal-dust, and saw that he was really ill.

“Come out of this horrible place,” she said, taking him by the hand. “Can you walk up the

stairs?”

“Yes, rather,” he said, “you watch me,” but she had to help him to the limit of her

strength before they reached the top. They emerged in the hall of a small house of the artisan

type, which appeared to be un-tenanted, although there was furniture in the rooms. “Come and sit

down a moment.”

“No,” he said, looking at his filthy hands, “I’d like to wash first if I may.”

“You are in a mess, aren’t you? There’s water in the scullery if that will do, and here’s

your suit-case if you’d like to change.”

“The scullery is luxury, Fräulein Weber, believe me. Thanks, I can manage quite well.

No, I can wash my own face, I’ve done it myself for years now. You go and sit in the front room,

I shan’t be long.”

He emerged twenty minutes later, washed, shaven, changed, and refreshed, to find her

waiting by the luggage in the hall looking at her watch.

“We have just half an hour,” she said, “to catch the train for Basle. Do you think we shall

do it? How are you feeling?”

“Positively dewy. Shall I leap out and catch a taxi?”

“No, I will,” she said, and was out of the door before he reached it and running like a hare

down the street.

“How very sudden,” he said languidly, and demonstrated his independence by carrying

three suit-cases across the pavement, after which he was glad to sit on them. She was back in five

minutes with a taxi and they drove through a frightened, silent town to catch their train with a

few minutes in hand, in spite of having been stopped three times by S.S. men at cross-roads.

Elisabeth Weber showed these men a card, at sight of which they saluted and stepped back. Each

time she glanced at Denton with an air of pride, and looked disappointed when he made no

comment.

“Don’t you wonder how it’s done?” she said at last.

“Fräulein, I never cross-question guardian angels,” said Denton blandly, but he was

thinking of Hambledon and not the lady as he spoke.

The interminable train journey ended at last with the customs officials at the Swiss

frontier. At Basle the travellers got out, Denton swaying slightly with a line of pain between his

brows as he stood waiting for a porter.

“You are tired,” said Elisabeth Weber.

“I have got the most damnable headache,” he said slowly, “and the train is running round

and round on my brain. I should like to go to bed for a week and be delicately nurtured by silent-

footed houris. Let’s go to Albrecht’s.”

“What’s that?”

“Albrecht’s Privat Hotel.”

“Do they keep houris there?”

“You are the houri in question, Fräulein Liese. You won’t desert me just yet, will you?”

“Of course not. My father told me to take care of you. Here’s a cab. Albrecht’s Privat

Hotel, please. I hope they’ll have room for us.”

“Albrecht will make room. Tell me, Fräulein Liese, how did you hear that I was in that

cellar, and who induced you to come?”

“My father told me that Herr Dedler had been accidentally hurt and was hiding from the

Black Guards, and that I was to go and get you out. He said we were travelling to Switzerland, he

had the tickets all ready, and your suit-case too. But I think there was somebody else—”

“Thank heaven here’s Albrecht’s. How wonderful to be in something that stands still and

doesn’t make noises.
Guten Tag
, Albrecht. Two single rooms with bath, please, and lead me to

it.”

Albrecht’s was a small hotel as hotels go in Switzerland, white, with balconies on every

floor and a roof of thick green glazed tiles which caught the sun and reflected the sky. Albrecht

himself was short, diplomatic, and a born h6telier. He started his career by inheriting Albrecht’s

from his father; now, at the age of fifty-seven, he owned two other hotels in Basle, large

decorative hotels with large decorative managers to match, outwardly omnipotent, but in private

clay in the hands of the inconspicuous little man who came, saw and scolded. Albrecht himself

regarded these ventures as money-making concerns only, the real passion of his life was

Albrecht’s. Rich and sumptuous tourists went naturally to Albrecht’s palaces, the wise and

discerning traveller to Albrecht’s itself.

Charles Denton went to bed in a darkened room and stayed there for a week, suffering

from delayed concussion. Elisabeth Weber saw to it that the doctor’s orders were carried out, at

least as far as was possible with a thoroughly cross patient. At the end of two days she had

discovered that the way to make him stay quietly in bed was to say, “Don’t you think it would do

you good to go out for a little while?” and if it was desirable to renew the cold compresses on his

head she had only to forget to do so. Having discovered this, she smiled when he was not

looking, and proceeded to enjoy herself.

Albrecht’s served a five o’clock tea at about six, with tea slightly unusual to English

palates, but marvellous cakes. At this time, and also after dinner, a small orchestra, embowered

in pot palms, played in a corner of the lounge music of the cheerful type called “light orchestral.”

In case even this should become, in time, monotonous to patrons, Albrecht had engaged a singer

also, an Austrian baritone who sang of love and springtime, of maidens and of partings.

Occasionally, in more robust mood, he sang of hunting, battle, and honourable but regrettably

premature decease. He was a stout young man with dark curly hair, he would have been

improved if his mother had added a cubit to his stature, and generally speaking his appearance

was gently reminiscent of a prize shorthorn bull. He had creamy manners, a really fine voice

which had been immortalized on a number of excellent gramophone records, and modesty was

not his most outstanding virtue.

There was a noteworthy shortage of personable young women among the patrons at the

time when Liese Weber arrived, and Herr Waltheof Leibowitz would have been blind and dumb

if he had not noticed her. He was neither. Besides, owing to the regrettable illness of her escort,

the poor girl was all alone, and it is a pious duty to brighten the lives of our fellow-creatures.

His eyes wandered round the room as he sang, and ceased to wander when they reached

Liese. When she applauded, with the rest, at the end of his songs, he had a special little bow for

her among the gestures with which he graciously accepted these natural tributes to his

excellence. After the concert was over, as he walked through the room on his way out, he passed

near her table and made her a little bow in passing, with the early rudiments of a smile. So ended

the first day.

On the second day he met her in the passage just before dinner and said, “
G’n abend
,

gnädige Fräulein
,” and after dinner, when she was on the terrace watching the setting sun all

rosy upon some distant alp, he approached and asked if this was her first visit to Switzerland, and

she said it was.

On the third day he did not see much of her because Charles Denton was ill, and restless

if she was long out of his sight.

On the fourth day Liese was again in the lounge, and Herr Waltheof had somebody to

sing to, which is always such a help to the artistic temperament. “Im Monat Mai,” he sang, “In

the month of May a maiden passed by, a maiden so unsophisticated that she had never been

kissed,” or words to that effect. Liese Weber was fairly unsophisticated and had travelled very

little, certainly she had never stayed in a hotel practically by herself before. Nor had she ever

been singled out for attention from among a number of people before, and she found it pleasant.

By the end of a week Charles Denton had recovered sufficiently to sit up in a chair on his

balcony, look at the view, and enjoy a little cheerful companionship.

“That’s a sizable little hump over there, surely,” he said, indicating an outstanding peak

in the far distance.

“That’s Rigi,” said Liese. “Waltheof says it’s five thousand nine hundred feet high.”

“Waltheof?”

“Herr Leibowitz.”

“Oh. The song-bird. Your Austrian hedge-warbler.”

“He has a beautiful voice.”

“And is full of instructive informationn too, evidently, thus combining beauty and

usefulness. Like an antimacassar. Let’s talk about something interesting, shall we?”

“Just as you like, Herr Dedler.”

“Do you think you could leave off calling me Herr Dedler? Try saying Charles.”

“Car-lus,” she said.

“Charles.”

“Charlus.”

“Much better, Liese. Does Waltheof call you Liese?”

“Have you had your soup? It’s past eleven.”

“No, thanks, I’m tired of soup. Does what’s-his-name call you Liese?”

“You’re tired of being up here,” she said, “and no wonder. Come down to the lounge for

a change.”

“Don’t know that I want to,” he said. “But don’t let me keep you. Frightfully boring for

you up here.”

“Don’t you want me to stay?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you want to go down?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You know,” he said judicially, “you’ve been pretty decent to me and I’ve been rotten to

you.”

“Father told me to look after you.”

“Did you only do it because Father told you to?”

“I’ll ring for your soup,” she said.

“Damn the soup. Put your hand on my head again as you did when I was ill.”

“Does it ache still? There, is that better?”

“Keep it there a little. What nice soft hands you have, Liese. I remember a girl once who

had soft hands like yours, her name was Marie.”

“Did you have headaches in those days?”

“Don’t take your hand away. No, but Marie would have tried to cure it for me—unless

Bill’s little finger had ached, then she’d have forgotten my existence.”

“Who were they, Char-lus?”

“Friends of mine. They were—well—rather fond of each other.”

“What happened to them?”

“They died. I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Did they die together, Char-les?”

“You’re getting my name better every time. No, she died in Cologne and he in England,

years later.”

“Perhaps they’re together now, Char-les.”

“You’re rather a dear. Would you really like me to come down to the lounge with you?”

“Yes, I would, please.”

“Why would you?”

“Well, it’s a little awkward, sometimes, being the only person here who’s all alone.”

“Good Lord, why didn’t you say so before? I’d have made an effort instead of lounging

here. I ought to have thought of it. Not but what making efforts is thoroughly alien to my

character—”

They went into the lounge, which was nearly empty at that time in the morning, and