"But I am glad to see you!" she cried as he came up, her face wreathed in smiles. "I was imagining the most horrible things. I feared I know not what! But you are safe, it seems." "Quite safe. In fact, I was never in any danger." "I was foolish, no doubt, to have fear. But in times like these, one never knows what may happen." "True enough," Stewart agreed. "Still, an American with a passport in his pocket ought to be safe anywhere." "Ah; you have a passport--that is good. That will simplify matters. The police have been here to question you. They will return presently." "The police?" "There have been some spies captured, it seems. And there are many who are trying to leave the country. So everyone is suspected. You are not German-born, I hope? If you were, I fear not even your passport would be of use." They had walked back together along the hall as they talked, and now stopped at the foot of the stair. The landlady seemed very nervous--as was perhaps natural amid the alarms of war. She scarcely listened to his assurance that he was American by birth. Little beads of perspiration stood out across her forehead---- "The police visited your room," she rattled on. "You will perhaps find your baggage disarranged." Stewart smiled wryly. "So it seems they really suspect me?" "They suspect everyone," the landlady repeated. She was standing with her back toward the door, and Stewart wondered why she should watch his face so closely. Suddenly, over her shoulder, he saw the ugly waiter with the hang-dog air approaching along the hall. "Such anxiety is quite natural," said the landlady rapidly in German, raising her voice a little. "I can understand it. But it is not remarkable that you should have missed her--the trains are so irregular. I will send her to you the moment she arrives. Ah, Hans," she added, turning at the sound of the waiter's footsteps, "so you are back at last! You will take up some hot water to the gentleman at once. And now you will excuse me, sir; I have the dinner to attend to," and she hurried away, carrying the waiter with her. Stewart stood for an instant staring after her; then he turned and mounted slowly to his room. But what had the woman meant? Why should he be anxious? Who was it he had missed? "I will send her to you the moment she arrives." No--she could not have said that--it was impossible that she should have said that. He must have misunderstood; his German was very second-rate, and she had spoken rapidly. But what _had_ she said? He was still pondering this problem, when a knock at the door told him that the hot water had arrived. As he opened the door, the landlady's voice came shrilly up the stair. "Hans!" she called. "There is something wrong with the stove. Hasten! Hasten!"