It was a deadly wearisome journey,--the carriages packed beyond reason, everyone somewhat on edge with anxiety and excitement, senseless disputations and bickerings, jokes that lacked humour but led to noisy quarrelling, no rest for mind or body. They were glad to turn out into the chill morning air at Schwandorf, only to find the express already gone and none but slow trains till the 1 p.m. express which would, if it kept faith, land them in Munich about four in the afternoon. They had breakfast and then propped themselves into corners in the waiting-room and endeavoured to make up for the loss of their night’s rest. The express was not quite so crowded, but even it was frequent captive to the sidings, and as their fellow-travellers regarded them with polite but unmistakable suspicion they deemed it wise to keep silence, and so found the journey very monotonous. And everywhere, from such glimpses of the country and stations as their middle seats afforded them, they got the impression of unusual activities and endless uniforms. “Is it always like this?” whispered Ray into Lois’s ear one time, and she shook her head. It was after five o’clock when they at last drew into Munich, and as they stood in the carriage to let other eager travellers descend, Lois plucked Ray warningly by the arm, and he saw, rolling along the platform, the Ponderous One who had already got them into trouble in Leipsic. “Hang the Fat-Pig!” he murmured. “Is there no getting away from him? What a Thing to be haunted by!” They peered out of the window till they saw him roll through the barrier, and only then ventured to descend and make for the restaurant. For to be delivered over to the police as suspects here, where they knew no one, might involve them in endless trouble and delay. The one thing they desired now, above food or even sleep, was to set foot in a country where English folk were not looked upon as suspicious outcasts. “Can you go on?” asked Ray. “I’m sure you’re dead tired, but----” “Oh, let us get on,” she replied, with a touch of the all-prevailing anxious strain in her voice. “Anything to get out of this horrid country. They make me feel like a leper.” There was a train marked to leave at 5.30 which had not yet started, and without waiting to get anything to eat, though their last meal had been early breakfast at Schwandorf, they climbed into a carriage, thankful at all events at thought of leaving their gross bête-noir behind in Munich. It was close on 11 p.m. when they reached Innsbruck, and Ray led her straight across to the Tirolerhof, engaged two rooms, boldly registered their names as Raglan and Lois Luard, and ordered supper,--anything they had ready, and they fell upon it with a sixteen-hours’ appetite.