They sat in the compartment of the train crawling into Munich. The Baron
drooped with sleep. Dorn stared wearily out of the window. Springtime. A
beginning of green in the fields and over the roll of hills. Formal
sunlight upon factories with an empty holiday frown in their windows.
"I hear shooting," he smiled at Mathilde. "We're probably in time."
The girl nodded. Despite the sleepless night sitting upright in the
compartment, her eyes were fresh and alive. The desultory crack of a
rifle drifting out of the town as if to greet them brought an impatience
into her manner. The train was moving slowly.
"Yes, we're in time," she murmured. "See, the white guards are still in
possession."
A group of soldiers with white sleeve-bands over the gray-green of their
uniforms passed in an empty street.
"There will be white guards at the station, too," she went on. "The
attack will come to-night. It must."
She looked intently at von Stinnes who, opening his eyes suddenly,
whispered, "Ah, Mathilde ... there was once another München...."
An uproar in the station. A scurry of guards and soldiers. White
sleeve-bands. Machine-guns behind heaped bags of sand. A halloo of
orders across the arc of the spacious shed. Passengers pouring out of
the newly arrived train, smiling, weeping, staring indifferently.
The officer desired the passengers to line themselves up against the
train. A suggestive order, and confusion. Whispers in the crowd....
"Personally, I prefer the guillotine.... No, no, madame. There is no
danger. These are good boys. Soldiers of the government. You can tell by
the sleeve-bands. White. Merely baggage inspection."
Dorn waited his turn. A group of soldiers approached slowly, delving
into pockets for weapons, peering into opened pieces of baggage. Babble,
expostulation, eager politeness of innocent travelers, and outside the
long crack of rifles, an occasional rip of a machine-gun. The group of
soldiers paused before him.
"I am an American," he spoke in English, "with the American commission."
The announcement produced its usual effect. Bows, salutes, smiles. He
pulled out his passport and foreign-office credentials. An officer
stepped forward and glanced at them.
"Very good," in courteous English, "you will pardon for the delay. We
are having a little trouble here."
He indicated the city with a nod of his head and smiled wryly. In German
he continued sharply, "Gottlieb, Neuman, you will escort this gentleman
and his friends to whatever place they wish to go. Take my car at post
10."
Two soldiers saluted. The officer bowed with a smile. The travelers
moved off with their escort toward the street. Mathilde kept her eyes on
von Stinnes as they entered a gray automobile.
"Von Stinnes and I will sit in the back," she whispered to Dorn.
The Baron nodded.
"Careful of your Leugger," he whispered, "the soldiers will see it. You
can shoot me just as easily if you keep it hidden. I have frequently
fired through my pocket."
In a hotel room a half-hour later, Mathilde, grown jubilant as a child,
was clapping her hands and laughing.
"It was too simple!" she cried.
Dorn drew a small suitcase from under the bed and opened it.
"Here it is," he laughed. He removed an oblong package. His eyes sought
von Stinnes, standing near the window leisurely smoking a cigarette.
"You will find Levine in the Gambrinus Keller," von Stinnes spoke
without turning around. "I advise you to go at once, Matty, before the
streets crowd up."
He wheeled and held an envelope toward the girl.
"Take this. It will make it easier for you to get in. They are very
careful right now. It's a letter of credentials from Dr. Kasnilov."
Mathilde opened the envelope mechanically, her eyes seeking the thought
under the Baron's smile.
"Thanks," she spoke in German. "I will go now. I will see you after. At
dinner to-night. Here."
She walked quickly from the room, the oblong package under her arm.