THE JAIL
would bring me something. Perhaps I should like to look at the menu—
I looked.
He brought in the lunch and I invited the fat man to join the feast. He did not refuse.
And again his pen squeaked and time went on. Hour after hour.—What have they against me?—Two years,—military court,—army prison, family,—the honour of myself and the nation —how this fellow puffs.—
I stood up and walked through the room. Now and then somebody peeped in,—perhaps to make sure that I was still there.
The fat clerk put on his coat and took his leave of me. The machine had completed its day's work and would be a man again.
I was alone. For how long, I do not know. I had ceased even to think.
Then a constable came to take me to the chief commissary.
Ah, l know him—Mr.Kolbe took me to him on the previous occasion.
The formalities, it seemed, were settled. The detective could now hand me over.
I mentioned my clean linen.
That, I was told, was a matter for the military superintendent in charge.
Good. We will go.
Outside, the detective suggested whether I wanted to take the tram.
No, let's go on foot.
We went and I bade farewell to the sunshine, freedom, to everything. I looked at the houses, the people, the sky, watched for the final sight of some familiar face, and wondered who it might be.
57
