Everything depended on whether the servant was in the hall. I had put Stumm to sleep for a bit, but I couldn’t flatter myself he would long be quiet, and when he came to he would kick the locked door to matchwood. I must get out of the house without a minute’s delay, and if the door was shut and the old man gone to bed I was done.  
I met him at the foot of the stairs, carrying a candle.
 
“Your master wants me to send off an important telegram. Where is the nearest office? There’s one in the village, isn’t there?” I in my best German, the first time I had used the tongue since I crossed the frontier.
 
“The village is five minutes off at the foot of the avenue,” he said. “Will you be long, sir?”
 
“I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour,” I said. “Don’t lock up till I get in.”
 
I put on my ulster and walked out into a clear night. My bag I left lying on a settle in the hall. There was nothing in it to compromise me, but I wished I could have got a toothbrush and some tobacco out of it.
 
So began one of the craziest escapades you can well imagine. I couldn’t stop to think of the future yet, but must take one step at a time. I ran down the avenue, my feet cracking on the hard snow, planning hard my programme for the next hour.
 
I found the village—half a dozen houses with one biggish place that looked like an inn. The moon was rising, and as I approached I saw that there was some kind of a store. A funny little two-seated car was purring before the door, and I guessed this was also the telegraph office.
 
I marched in and told my story to a woman with spectacles on her nose who was talking to a young man.
 
“It is too late,” she shook her head. “The Herr Burgrave knows that well. There is no connection from here after eight o’clock. If the matter is urgent you must go to Schwandorf.”
 
“How far is that?” I asked, looking for some excuse to get decently out of the shop.
 
“Seven miles,” she said, “but here is Franz and the post-. Franz, you will be glad to give the gentleman a seat beside you.”
 
The sheepish-looking youth muttered something which I took to be , and finished off a glass of beer. From his eyes and manner he looked as if he were half drunk.
 
I thanked the woman, and went out to the car, for I was in a fever to take advantage of this unexpected bit of luck. I could hear the post-mistress Franz not to keep the gentleman waiting, and presently he came out and into the driver’s seat. We started in a series of curves, till his eyes got accustomed to the darkness.
 
At first we made good going along the straight, broad highway lined with woods on one side and on the other snowy fields melting into . Then he began to talk, and, as he talked, he slowed down. This by no means suited my book, and I seriously wondered whether I should pitch him out and take charge of the thing. He was obviously a weakling, left behind in the conscription, and I could have done it with one hand. But by a fortunate chance I left him alone.
 
“That is a fine hat of yours, mein Herr,” he said. He took off his own blue peaked cap, the uniform, I suppose, of the driver of the post-wagon, and laid it on his knee. The night air a shock of tow-coloured hair.
 
Then he calmly took my hat and clapped it on his head.
 
“With this thing I should be a gentleman,” he said.
 
I said nothing, but put on his cap and waited.
 
“That is a noble overcoat, mein Herr,” he went on. “It goes well with the hat. It is the kind of garment I have always desired to own. In two days it will be the holy Christmas, when gifts are given. Would that the good God sent me such a coat as yours!”
 
“You can try it on to see how it looks,” I said good-humouredly.
 
He stopped the car with a jerk, and pulled off his blue coat. The exchange was soon effected. He was about my height, and my ulster fitted not so badly. I put on his overcoat, which had a big collar that buttoned round the neck.
 
The idiot himself like a girl. Drink and vanity had primed him for any . He drove so carelessly for a bit that he nearly put us into a ditch. We passed several cottages and at the last he slowed down.
 
“A friend of mine lives here,” he announced. “Gertrud would like to see me in the fine clothes which the most Herr has given me. Wait for me, I will not be long.” And he out of the car and lurched into the little garden.
 
I took his place and moved very slowly forward. I heard the door open and the sound of laughing and loud voices. Then it shut, and looking back I saw that my idiot had been absorbed into the of his Gertrud. I waited no longer, but sent the car forward at its best speed.
 
Five minutes later the infernal thing began to give trouble—a nut loose in the steering-gear. I unhooked a lamp, examined it, and put the right, but I was a quarter of an hour doing it. The highway ran now in a thick forest and I noticed branches going off now and then to the right. I was just thinking of turning up one of them, for I had no anxiety to visit Schwandorf, when I heard behind me the sound of a great car driven furiously.
 
I drew in to the right side—thank goodness I remembered the rule of the road—and proceeded decorously, wondering what was going to happen. I could hear the brakes being clamped on and the car slowing down. Suddenly a big grey slipped past me and as I turned my head I heard a familiar voice.
 
It was Stumm, looking like something that has been run over. He had his in a , so that I wondered if I had broken it, and his eyes were beautifully bunged up. It was that that saved me, that and his raging temper. The collar of the postman’s coat was round my chin, hiding my beard, and I had his cap pulled well down on my brow. I remembered what Blenkiron had said—that the only way to deal with the Germans was naked . Mine was naked enough, for it was all that was left to me.
 
“Where is the man you brought from Andersbach?” he roared, as well as his jaw would allow him.
 
I pretended to be mortally scared, and spoke in the best imitation I could manage of the postman’s high cracked voice.
 
“He got out a mile back, Herr Burgrave,” I quavered. “He was a rude fellow who wanted to go to Schwandorf, and then changed his mind.”
 
“Where, you fool? Say exactly where he got down or I will your neck.”
 
“In the wood this side of Gertrud’s cottage ... on the left hand. I left him running among the trees.” I put all the terror I knew into my pipe, and it wasn’t all .
 
“He means the Henrichs’ cottage, Herr Colonel,” said the . “This man is courting the daughter.”
 
Stumm gave an order and the great car backed, and, as I looked round, I saw it turning. Then as it gathered speed it shot forward, and presently was lost in the shadows. I had got over the first .
 
But there was no time to be lost. Stumm would meet the postman and would be tearing after me any minute. I took the first turning, and bucketed along a narrow woodland road. The hard ground would show very few tracks, I thought, and I hoped the pursuit would think I had gone on to Schwandorf. But it wouldn’t do to risk it, and I was very soon to get the car off the road, leave it, and take to the forest. I took out my watch and calculated I could give myself ten minutes.
 
I was very nearly caught. Presently I came on a bit of rough heath, with a slope away from the road and here and there a patch of black which I took to be a sandpit. Opposite one of these I the car to the edge, got out, started it again and saw it pitch head-foremost into the darkness. There was a splash of water and then silence. Craning over I could see nothing but murk, and the marks at the lip where the wheels had passed. They would find my tracks in daylight but scarcely at this time of night.
 
Then I ran across the road to the forest. I was only just in time, for the echoes of the splash had hardly died away when I heard the sound of another car. I lay flat in a hollow below a of snow-laden brambles and looked between the pine-trees at the moonlit road. It was Stumm’s car again and to my it stopped just a little short of the sandpit.
 
I saw an electric torch flashed, and Stumm himself got out and examined the tracks on the highway. Thank God, they would be still there for him to find, but had he tried half a dozen yards on he would have seen them turn towards the sandpit. If that had happened he would have beaten the adjacent woods and most certainly found me. There was a third man in the car, with my hat and coat on him. That poor devil of a postman had paid dear for his vanity.
 
They took a long time before they started again, and I was jolly well relieved when they went down the road. I ran deeper into the woods till I found a track which—as I judged from the sky which I saw in a clearing—took me nearly due west. That wasn’t the direction I wanted, so I bore off at right angles, and presently struck another road which I crossed in a hurry. After that I got in some confounded kind of enclosure and had to climb paling after paling of rough stakes plaited with osiers. Then came a rise in the ground and I was on a low hill of pines which seemed to last for miles. All the time I was going at a good pace, and before I stopped to rest I calculated I had put six miles between me and the sandpit.
 
My mind was getting a little more active now; for the first part of the journey I had simply staggered from impulse to impulse. These impulses had been lucky, but I couldn’t go on like that for ever. Ek sal “n plan maak, says the old Boer when he gets into trouble, and it was up to me now to make a plan.
 
As soon as I began to think I saw the desperate business I was in for. Here was I, with nothing except what I stood up in—including a coat and cap that weren’t mine—alone in mid-winter in the heart of South Germany. There was a man behind me looking for my blood, and soon there would be a hue-and-cry for me up and down the land. I had heard that the German police were pretty efficient, and I couldn’t see that I stood the slimmest chance. If they caught me they would shoot me beyond doubt. I asked myself on what charge, and answered, “For knocking about a German officer.” They couldn’t have me up for , for as far as I knew they had no evidence. I was simply a Dutchman that had got riled and had run amok. But if they cut down a cobbler for laughing at a second lieutenant—which is what happened at Zabern—I calculated that hanging would be too good for a man that had broken a colonel’s jaw.
 
To make things worse my job was not to escape—though that would have been hard enough—but to get to Constantinople, more than a thousand miles off, and I reckoned I couldn’t get there as a tramp. I had to be sent there, and now I had flung away my chance. If I had been a Catholic I would have said a prayer to St Teresa, for she would have understood my troubles.
 
My mother used to say that when you felt down on your luck it was a good cure to count your mercies. So I set about counting mine. The first was that I was well started on my journey, for I couldn’t be above two score miles from the Danube. The second was that I had Stumm’s pass. I didn’t see how I could use it, but there it was. Lastly I had plenty of money—fifty-three English sovereigns and the equivalent of three pounds in German paper which I had changed at the hotel. Also I had squared accounts with old Stumm. That was the biggest mercy of all.
 
I thought I’d better get some sleep, so I found a dryish hole below an oak root and squeezed myself into it. The snow lay deep in these woods and I was wet up to the knees. All the same I managed to sleep for some hours, and got up and shook myself just as the winter’s dawn was breaking through the tree tops. Breakfast was the next thing, and I must find some sort of dwelling.
 
Almost at once I struck a road, a big highway running north and south. I along in the bitter morning to get my circulation started, and presently I began to feel a little better. In a little I saw a church , which meant a village. Stumm wouldn’t be likely to have got on my tracks yet, I calculated, but there was always the chance that he had warned all the villages round by telephone and that they might be on the look-out for me. But that risk had to be taken, for I must have food.
 
It was the day before Christmas, I remembered, and people would be holidaying. The village was quite a big place, but at this hour—just after eight o’clock—there was nobody in the street except a wandering dog. I chose the most unassuming shop I could find, where a little boy was taking down the shutters—one of those general stores where they sell everything. The boy fetched a very old woman, who hobble............