We were drenched¹ to the skin and bespattered with mud, cold and cheerless but full of a grim excitement. Across the street from the small, poorly lighted railway station there was an eating-house. Leaving the car in the shelter of a freight shed, we sloshed through the shiny rivulet³ that raced between the curbs⁴ and entered the clean, unpretentious little restaurant.  
There was a rousing smell of roasted coffee pervading⁵ the place. A sleepy German waiter first came up and glanced sullenly⁶ at the mud-tracks we left upon the floor; then he allowed his insulting gaze to trail our progress to the lunch counter by means of a perfect torrent⁷ of rain-water drippings. He went out of the room grumbling⁸, to return a moment later with a huge mop. Thereupon he ordered us out of the place, standing¹⁰ ready with the mop to begin the cleansing¹¹ process the instant we vacated the stools. It was quite clear to both of us that he wanted to begin operations at the exact spot where we were standing.
 
"Coffee for two," said I, in German. To me anything uttered in the German language sounds gruff and belligerent¹², no matter how gentle its meaning. That amiable¹³ sentence: "Ich liebe dich" is no exception; to me it sounds relentless¹⁴. I am confident that I asked for coffee in a very mild and ingratiating tone, in direct contrast to his command to get out, and was somewhat ruffled¹⁵ by his stare of speechless rage.
 
"Zwei," said Britton, pointing to the big coffee urn⁹.
 
The fellow began mopping around my feet—in fact, he went so far as to mop the tops of them and a little way up my left leg in his efforts to make a good, clean job of it.
 
"Stop that!" I growled¹⁶, kicking at the mop. Before I could get my foot back on the floor he skilfully¹⁷ swabbed the spot where it had been resting, a feat¹⁸ of celerity that I have never seen surpassed. "Damn it, don't!" I roared, backing away. The resolute¹⁹ mop followed me like the spectre of want. Fascinated, I found myself retreating to the doorway²⁰.
 
Britton, resourceful fellow, put an end to his endeavours by jumping upon the mop and pinning it to the floor very much as he would have stamped upon a wounded rat.
 
The fellow called out lustily to some one in the kitchen, at the same time giving the mop handle a mighty²¹ jerk. If you are expecting me to say that Britton came to woe²², you are doomed²³ to disappointment. It was just the other way about. Just as the prodigious²⁴ yank took place, my valet hopped²⁵ nimbly from the mop, and the waiter sat down with a stunning²⁶ thud.
 
I do not know what might have ensued had not the proprietress of the place appeared at that instant, coming from the kitchen. She was the cook as well, and she was large enough to occupy the space of at least three Brittons. She was huge beyond description.
 
"Wass iss?" she demanded, pausing aghast. Her voice was a high, belying²⁷ treble.
 
I shall not attempt to describe in detail all that followed. It is only necessary to state that she removed the mop from the hands of the quaking menial and fairly swabbed him out into the thick of the rainstorm.
 
While we were drinking our hot, steaming coffee and gorging²⁸ ourselves with frankfurters, the poor wretch²⁹ stood under the eaves with his face glued to the window, looking in at us with mournful eyes while the drippings from the tiles poured upon his shoulders and ran in rivulets³⁰ down his neck. I felt so sorry for him that I prevailed upon the muttering, apologetic hostess to take him in again. She called him in as she might have called a dog, and he edged his way past her with the same scared, alert look in his eyes that one always sees in those of an animal that has its tail between its legs.
 
She explained that he was her nephew, just off the farm. Her sister's son, she said, and naturally not as intelligent as he ought to be.
 
While we were sitting there at the counter, a train roared past the little station. We rushed to the door in alarm. But it shot through at the rate of fifty miles an hour. I looked at my watch. It still wanted half-an-hour of train time, according to the schedule.
 
"It was the express, mein herr," explained the woman. "It never stops. We are too small yet. Some time we may be big enough." I noticed that her eyes were fixed³¹ in some perplexity on the old clock above the pie shelves. "Ach! But it has never been so far ahead of time as to-night. It is not due for fifteen minutes yet, and here it is gone yet."
 
"Perhaps your clock is slow," I said. "My watch says four minutes to twelve."
 
Whereupon she heaped a tirade³² of abuse upon the shrinking Hans for letting the clock lose ten minutes of her valuable time. To make sure, Hans set it forward nearly half an hour while she was looking the other way. Then he began mopping the floor again.
 
At half-past twelve the train from Munich drew up at the station, panted awhile in evident disdain³³, and then moved on.
 
A single passenger alighted: a man with a bass³⁴ viol. There was no sign of the Tituses!
 
We made a careful and extensive search of the station, the platform and even the surrounding neighbourhood, but it was quite evident that they had not left the train. Here was a pretty pass! Britton, however, had the rather preposterous³⁵ idea that there might be another train a little later on. It did not seem at all likely, but we made inquiries³⁶ of the station agent. To my surprise—and to Britton's infernal British delight—there was a fast train, with connections from the north, arriving in half an hour. It was, however, an hour late, owing to the storm.
 
"Do you mean that it will arrive at two o'clock?" I demanded in dismay.
 
"No, no," said the guard; "it will arrive at one but not until two. It is late, mein herr."
 
We dozed³⁷ in the little waiting-room for what I consider to be the longest hour I've ever known, and then hunted up the guard once more. He blandly³⁸ informed me that it was still an hour late.
 
"An hour from now?" I asked.
 
"An hour from two," said he, pityingly. What ignorant lummixes we were!
 
Just ten minutes before three the obliging guard came in and roused us from a mild sleep.
 
"The train is coming, mein herr."
 
"Thank God!"
 
"But I neglected to mention that it is an express and never stops here."
 
My right hand was still in a bandage, but it was so nearly healed that I could have used it without discomfort—(note my ability to drive a motor car)—and it was with the greatest difficulty that I restrained a mad, devilish impulse to strike that guard full upon the nose, from which the raindrops coursed in an interrupted descent from the visor of his cap.
 
The shrill³⁹, childish whistle of the locomotive reached us at that instant. A look of wonder sprang into the eyes of the guard.
 
"It—it is going to stop, mein herr," he cried. "Gott in himmel! It has never stopped before." He rushed out upon the platform in a great state of agitation⁴⁰, and we trailed along behind him, even more excited than he.
 
It was still raining, but not so hard. The glare of the headlight was upon us for an instant and then, passing, left us in blinding darkness. The brakes creaked, the wheels grated and at last the train came to a standstill. For one horrible moment I thought it was going on through in spite of its promissory signal. Britton went one way and I the other, with our umbrellas ready. Up and down the line of wagon⁴¹ lits we raced. A conductor stepped down from the last coach but one, and prepared to assist a passenger to alight. I hastened up to him.
 
"Permit me," I said, elbowing him aside.
 
A portly lady squeezed through the vestibule and felt her way carefully down the steps. Behind her was a smallish, bewhiskered man, trying to raise an umbrella inside the narrow corridor, a perfectly⁴² impossible feat.
 
She came down into my arms with the limpness of one who is accustomed to such attentions, and then wheeled instantly upon the futile⁴³ individual on the steps above.
 
"Quick! My hat! Heaven preserve us, how it rains!" she cried, in a deep, wheezy voice and—in German!
 
"Moth—" I began insinuatingly⁴⁴, but the sacred word died unfinished on my lips. The next instant I was scurrying⁴⁵ down the platform to where I saw Britton standing.
 
"Have you seen them?" I shouted wildly.
 
"No, sir. Not a sign, sir. Ah! See!"
 
He pointed⁴⁶ excitedly down the platform.
 
"No!" I rasped out. "By no possible stretch of the imagination can that be Mrs. Titus. Come! We must ask the conductor. That woman? Good Lord, Britton, she waddles⁴⁷!"
 
The large lady and the smallish man passed us on the way to shelter, the latter holding an umbrella over her hat with one hand and lugging⁴⁸ a heavy hamper⁴⁹ in the other. They were both exclaiming in German. The station guard and the conductor were bowing and scraping in their wake, both carrying boxes and bundles.
 
No one else had descended⁵⁰ from the train. I grabbed the conductor by the arm.
 
"Any one else getting off here?" I demanded in English and at once repeated it in German.
 
He shook himself loose, dropped the bags in the shelter of the station house, doffed⁵¹ his cap to the imperious backs of his late passengers, and scuttled⁵² back to the car. A moment later the train was under way.
 
"Can you not see for yourself?" he shouted from the steps as he passed me by.
 
Once more I swooped⁵³ down upon the guard. He was stuffing the large German lady into a small, lopsided carriage, the driver of which was taking off his cap and putting it on again after the manner of a mechanical toy.
 
"Go away," hissed⁵⁴ the guard angrily. "This is the Mayor and the Mayoress. Stand aside! Can't you see?"
 
Presently the Mayor and the Mayoress were snugly⁵⁶ stowed away in the creaking hack⁵⁷, and it rattled⁵⁸ away over the cobblestones.
 
"When does the next train get in?" I asked for the third time. He was still bowing after the departing hack.
 
"Eh? The next? Oh, mein herr, is it you?"
 
"Yes, it is still I. Is there another train soon?"
 
"That was Mayor Berg and his wife," he said, taking off his cap again in a sort of ecstasy⁵⁹. "The express stops for him, eh? Ha! It stops for no one else but our good Mayor. When he commands it to stop it stops—"
 
"Answer my question," I thundered, "or I shall report you to the Mayor!"
 
"Ach, Gott!" he gasped⁶⁰. Collecting his thoughts, he said: "There is no train until nine o'clock in the morning. Nine, mein herr."
 
"Ach, Gott!" groaned⁶¹ I. "Are you sure?"
 
"Jah! You can go home now and go to bed, sir. There will be no train until nine and I will not be on duty then. Good night!"
 
Britton led me into the waiting-room, where I sat down and glared at him as if he were to blame for everything connected with our present plight⁶².
 
"I daresay we'd better be starting 'ome, sir," said he timidly. "Something 'as gone wrong with the plans, I fear. They did not come, sir."
 
"Do you think I am blind?" I roared.
 
"Not at all, sir," he said in haste, taking a step or two backward.
 
Inquiries at the little eating-house only served to verify the report of the station-guard. There would be no train before nine o'clock, and that was a very slow one; what we would call a "local" in the States. Sometimes, according to the proprietress, it was so slow that it didn't get in at all. It had been known to amble⁶³ in as late as one in the afternoon, but when it happened to be later than that it ceased to have an identity of its own and came in as a part of the two o'clock train. Moreover, it carried nothing but third-class carriages and more often than not it had as many as a dozen freight cars attached.
 
There was not the slightest probability that the fastidious Mrs. Titus would travel by such a train, so we were forced to the conclusion that something had gone wrong with the plans. Very dismally⁶⁴ we prepared for the long drive home. What could have happened to upset the well-arranged plan? Were Tarnowsy's spies so hot upon the trail that it was necessary for her to abandon the attempt to enter my castle? In that case, she must have sent some sort of a message to her daughter, apprising⁶⁵ her of the unexpected change; a message which, unhappily for me, arrived after my departure. It was not likely that she would have altered her plans without letting us know, and yet I could not shake off an exasperating⁶⁶ sense of doubt. If I were to believe all that Bangs said about the excellent lady, it would not be unlike her to do quite as she pleased in the premises⁶⁷ without pausing to consider the comfort or the convenience of any one else interested in the undertaking⁶⁸. A selfish desire to spend the day in Lucerne might have overtaken her en passant, and the rest of us could go hang for all that she cared about consequences!
 
I am ashamed to confess that the longer I considered the matter, the more plausible⁶⁹ this view of the situation appeared to me. By the time we succeeded in starting the engine, after cranking for nearly half an hour, I was so consumed by wrath⁷⁰ over the scurvy⁷¹ trick she had played upon us that I swore she should not enter my castle if I could prevent it; moreover, I would take fiendish delight in dumping her confounded luggage into the Danube.
 
I confided⁷² my views to Britton who was laboriously⁷³ cranking the machine and telling me between grunts⁷⁴ that the "............