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To go to an hotel at that hour of night, without luggage and with an American passport not in order, would be to court disaster. It looked as though I should have to hang about the cafés and night restaurants until morning, investigate the clue of the street called In den Zelten, and then get away from Berlin as fast as ever I could. But my head was nodding with drowsiness.
I had struck the trail at last. In den Zelten, I discovered, on referring to the directory again, derived its name "In the Tents," from the fact that in earlier days a number of open-air beer-gardens and booths had occupied the site which faces the northern side of the Tiergarten. It was not a long street.
For the street called In den Zelten was my next objective. I knew I might be on the wrong track altogether in my interpretation of what I was pleased to term in my mind the message from Francis. If I had read it falsely if, perhaps, it were not from him at all then all the hopes I had built on this mad dash into the enemy's country would collapse like a house of cards.
"Do not talk such absurd nonsense," the Goldsmith said, "but come along with me as fast as you can." He took hold of Tussmann by the arm, and led him away. But when they came to where the walk which leads to the Zelten crosses at right angles, he pulled up, and said "Wait a moment, Tussmann. You're wet through, and look like I don't know what. Just let me wipe your face, at all events."
As I walked along I tore it into tiny pieces, dropping each fragment at a good interval from the other. It cost me something to do it, for a passport is always useful to flash in the eyes of the ignorant. But this passport was dangerous. It might denounce me to a man who would not otherwise recognize me. I had some difficulty in finding In den Zelten.
I tried for a "Blätter" or a "Blatt-Strasse" with an equally negative result. It was discouraging work, but I went back to the paper again. The only other word likely to serve as a street remaining in the puzzle was "Zelt." "Wie Achiles in dem Zelte." Wearily I opened the directory at the "Z's." There, staring me in the face, I found the street called "In den Zelten."
I had taken the precaution of getting Kore to change my money into German notes before we left In den Zelten ... at a preposterous rate of exchange, be it said. How lost I should have been without Semlin's wad of notes! I paid for my coffee and set forth again. It was 12.15 as I walked into the hall of the Anhalt station.
Of course, the man was in a most perilous trade, and had probably been playing the game for years. But suppose they had tracked me to the house in the street called In den Zelten. I crossed the room and opened the door to the street.
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