Wenk asked himself, “Why is the man so talkative?” and once more his feeling of repulsion for the Hungarian regained its sway. He was inwardly both excited and uneasy, and in spite of the darkness in the car his eyes smarted. There seemed to be a constant stabbing sensation in them, and the thousands of likenesses he had seen that day seemed to be chasing each other round and round in a never-ending stream. “How much I should like to be at home and in bed!” he thought to himself. The car drove through districts which were unknown to him, and this was peculiar, for he had made the trip to the Nicholas Lake several times already and thought he knew the district beyond Friedenau. To-day, however, everything seemed unfamiliar. Was it the thick darkness of the night and the very sparse illuminations allowed since the war, or was it his own mood, which was responsible? “Surely we ought to be at Nicholas Lake by now!” said he. “I am not familiar with this neighbourhood,” said Vörös. “I used to have friends out there, and I often drove there by motor-car, but of course that was before the war.” “Ah, yes, before the war. Everything was different then,” and they both became silent. Wenk looked at his watch, but it was too dark to read the dial, and for a long time now there had been scarcely any lights. After a prolonged pause, Wenk said, “Surely the driver has not lost his way?” “He is a Berlin taxi-driver. He told me he knew the way quite well.” Wenk took up the speaking-tube: “Chauffeur, you know where it is? Nicholas Lake, the Komorek Villa.” At this moment the car swung round, and lights appeared at the end of a long avenue. “Here we are!” said the superintendent of police. The motor soon drew up among other cars, all close together in front of the outside staircase leading to the house. It was not lighted, but the three French windows in the hall on to which it opened gave sufficient light. Wenk advanced rapidly to the light. Vörös conducted him to the cloakroom, which was filled with overcoats. A clock in the hall struck ten; its strokes were harsh and hasty, as if it would flog the hours away. Wenk, trying to count them, could not keep up with it. “Ten o’clock,” he said to himself. “We’ve been an hour coming, and yet the car seemed to be doing about forty-five kilometres an hour. Nicholas Lake is not so far away as all that!” and again a faint misgiving stole over him. He looked towards the Hungarian, who was smiling pleasantly at him. Then they went towards the large folding doors. “Allow me to precede you, so that I may introduce you to the Princess at once.”