J. S. MACHAR
and I gave them to Preminger. "You will allow me, gentlemen, to have my lunch, I suppose?"
Preminger bowed. "In the meanwhile we will have a look at the books, everything is of interest to us, both written and printed matter." They sat down and removed books from the shelves; I had my lunch in the next room. I was calm and said to myself: whatever it may be, I must show no weakness. I ate slowly, from outside could be heard the measured snorting of the motor-car, in the next room my guests were engaged in conversation. "I tell you that the Roumanians will go against us, I was ten years in a Roumanian regiment and I know them“, expounded the Captain.
"I don't believe it", declared Preminger and closed one of my books noisily.
I was finished and went in to them.
"I will take these letters with me", remarked Preminger and he thrust some letters of Kramář into his breast-pocket. "And now we will see whether anything else will suit us. First of all show us all your correspondence."
"War-time? Or all of it?"
"The whole lot."
I began with the dead. Winter—
"Who was he?"
"An author, and excellent man. Further: Čech—"
"Who was he?"
"A great poet. A field-marshal was ordered to his funeral. Vrchlický—"
"Ah, Vrhliky,—I have heard of him. Is he dead too?"
"Slavíček, a painter —"
"Is he dead too?"
"He shot himself"—Šimáček, Neruda, Sládek—
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