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So that he did not see the entry at that moment of the man who came from the balcony, walking noiselessly upon rubber-soled tennis-shoes. He heard Von Wetten's "Good afternoon, Herr Bettermann," and straightened up quickly to be introduced.
As he completed each hole to Von Wetten's satisfaction, that demigod dropped one or more of his small packages into it, and arranged them snugly with the iron rod. While he did so, Herr Haase eased himself upright, wiped the sweat from his brow, and gazed across at the other two.
He would have liked to look from one to the other, to watch their faces, but he was too deeply drilled for that. He heard Von Wetten's voice with a quaver in it. "Then things are going as badly as all that?" "Yes," answered the Baron. "Badly! It is not just this battle that is going on now in France; it strikes deeper than that.
You should have the last of them off by midnight. And to-morrow, when the answers begin to come, you will report here as quickly as possible." "Zu befehl, Excellenz," said Herr Haase, his hands full of papers. "Then good night, my good Haase," said the Baron. "Good night to your Excellency," returned Herr Haase, from the doorway. "Good night, Herr Hauptmann!" to Von Wetten's back.
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