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Updated: June 25, 2025
A thousand questions surged against his lips, but he kept them shut with all the stolidity of his native blood. When the waiter set the beer down before him, he said: "Where does Herr Carmichael live?" "The consulate is in the Adlergasse. He himself lives here at the Grand Hotel. Ach! He is a great man, Herr Carmichael." "So?"
So he put the question to a policeman. The officer politely gave him a detailed route. "Follow these directions and you will have no trouble in finding the Adlergasse." "Much obliged." Trouble? Scarcely! He had put out his first protest against the world in the Adlergasse, forty years since. He came to a stand before the old tavern.
But his eyes were keen and undimmed, and he walked confidently and erect, like a man who has always lived in the open. "Will you tell me how to find the Adlergasse?" he asked in broken German. His accent was that of a Magyar. He had a smattering of a dozen tongues at his command, for in his time he had crossed and recrossed the Danube, the Rhine, and the Rhone.
"I shall be very glad to see you in the Adlergasse at half after ten. It is one flight up, next door to the Black Eagle. Any one will show you the way. I haven't breakfasted yet, and I can not transact any business in these dusty clothes. Good morning." Grumbach liked the consul's smile. More than that, he recognized instantly that this handsome young man was a gentleman.
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