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Updated: June 21, 2025
He could not help trembling slightly at first, but he would have giving a great deal if, by some miraculous vision, Mary Kramer and other friends of his in Cranston could have seen him engaged in what he thought of as "conversational badinage" with the Comtesse de Vaurigard. Both the lady and her name thrilled him.
And so now, as was his habit, Joe Kramer came crashing into my life and as usual put a stop to my work. Having just landed from Russia, he had "breezed over" to our house, had had a talk with Sue downstairs and had then come up to my room to surprise me just as I had a good firm grip on one of my most entrancing roots. "Hello, Bill," he cried. "What are you up to?" "Hello, J. K. How are you?"
"Here was I watching old Hoff for our government, and Kramer watching me for your navy and Fleck watching both of us. It was a funny jumble." "But about that uniform?" Jane persisted. "When the old man got to ragging me a bit, I felt I must do something to convince him I was all right. I suggested trying to get a British uniform and maybe learning thereby some secrets. It delighted him hugely.
In the cabin were the customary papers for clearing the vessel. "Salute the ladies in my name. Tell them that they will soon have news of us. We are going to make ourselves lords of the Mediterranean." The unloading of combustibles still continued. Ferragut saw von Kramer slipping through the openings of one of the submarines.
A blast from one of those would have burned all four of us in that enclosed room. I dumped them into a drawer and loaded my Browning 2mm. The trouble wasn't over yet, I knew. After this farce, Kramer would have to make another move to regain his prestige. I unlocked the door, and left it slightly ajar. Then I threw the main switch and stretched out on my bunk.
A fist flashed out and snapped his head back. That was a mistake; Williams pulled his needler, and fired a ricochet down the passage. "'Bout twelve a you yellow-bellies git outa my way," he yelled. "I'm comin' through." Nagle moved close to Williams, and shouted something to him. The noise drowned it. Kramer swung back to me, frantic to regain his sway over the mob.
A fourth lay dying where Halloran had brought him down in his flight, and near him lay a tattered pocketbook. Halloran picked this up. He knew what name he should find in it before he glanced at the contents. Yes, there was the name: "Heinrich Kramer." It was the man who had gone back for the diamonds. This, then, was why the Bushmen had followed and killed him and rifled the body.
He was out of bed now and he seemed to take strength from the news reports that he eagerly read of the struggle so fast approaching. "At sea," he said, "when stokers try to quit their jobs and force their way on deck, they're either put in irons or shot down as mutineers. You'll see your friend Kramer dead or in jail. No danger to your sister now. Only see that you keep out of it!"
But our welcome was hearty, and we found a score of friends. Titanic Fopp, whose limbs are Michelangelesque in length; spectacled Morosani; the little tailor Kramer, with a French horn on his knees; the puckered forehead of the Baumeister; the Troll-shaped postman; peasants and woodmen, known on far excursions upon pass and upland valley.
"Peter and Coblich have known it from the first, and then there is Kramer, the loyal old shopkeeper of Tafelberg, who followed Coblich and Maenck all night and half a day as they dragged the king to the hiding-place where we found him. Other than these there may be those who guess the truth, but there are none who know." For a moment the king sat in thought.
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