By the pale gleam of a couple of candles, and the slight warmth from a newly kindled fire in a white china stove, the "Blitz boys" made their toilets of the interesting characters they were to assume. "What time is it anyway?" yawned Henri. "I guess I'm not good enough in higher mathematics to figure it out for you," growled Billy, as he tussled with leather shoestrings that tied, he said, "seven ways for Sunday." The voice of "Dr. Blitz" sounded at the foot of the stairway, in the lower regions of the house. There was no "young sirs" about it. The "good merchant of Hamburg" was on vacation. "Crawl lively there, you snails," were the words that ascended. "Wonder what tip he is working on now?" whispered Billy. "You will never know until you get to it." Henri had before been impressed with the fact that Roque was not in the habit of springing until he got on the board. "Good morning, Dr. Blitz," was Billy's cheery greeting to the man who was making hasty breakfast at a table drawn up before a crackling fire in a big brick cavern. He could not have testified from side view that it was Roque, so he took a chance on "Blitz." Along with a gulp of coffee the imposing person addressed shot a remark in German over his shoulder, which Henri afterward explained to Billy was very near to profanity. The boys edged into chairs at the table, but missed a round of muffins through staring at the "doctor." The merchant masquerade was wholly outclassed by this new display of the make-up art. Billy wanted to say "ring the night bell," but sheer admiration kept him silent. Whether it was the combined effects of the steaming coffee, hot muffins, and a big black cigar that followed, or the silent tribute in the eyes of his young guests, it was, nevertheless, a speedily noted fact that Roque was thawing into more gracious manner. "I suppose you know that it is only a few hours now until Christmas, and we must find some special way to observe it." Billy and Henri could not get the straight line on Roque's remark, but later realized that the holiday was of the like they had never before passed. With a cutting wind from off the icy flow of the mighty river Elbe in their faces, the boys followed their leader to the docks, where they boarded a small craft, evidently built for speed, which had steam up and manned for instant start. The captain was the same who commanded the deck when the boys had accompanied Roque on a previous exciting excursion. This official, standing at attention, stiff as a ramrod, gave no visible mark of recognition as the passengers boarded the boat, but Billy could have sworn that he saw something like a twinkle in the captain's right eye when they passed the gangplank. "No use asking where we are bound for," lamented Henri. "Not a bit of use," agreed Billy. They were out of earshot of Roque, whose tall form, in rusty black, was outlined in the dawnlight near the wheel of the churning steamer.