Finally, the
officer swung himself round, and departed abruptly.
"Dolmetscher," the driver announced to him triumphantly.
"Dolmetscher," the innkeeper repeated.
Guy turned it up in his phrase book, and found that it meant
interpreter. He devoted himself then to stimulating the preparations for
breakfast.
The meal was ready at last. There were eggs and ham and veal,
dark-colored bread, and coffee, sufficient for about a dozen people. The
driver constituted himself host, and Guy, with a shout of laughter, sat
down where he was, and ate. In the midst of the meal the officer
reappeared, ushering in a small wizened-faced individual of unmistakably
English appearance. Guy turned round in his chair, and the newcomer
touched his forelock.
"Hullo!" Guy exclaimed. "You're English!"
"Yes, sir!" the man answered. "Came over to train polo ponies for the
Prince of Haepsburg. Not in any trouble, I hope, sir?"
"Not I," Guy answered cheerily. "Don't mind my going on with my
breakfast, do you? What's it all about? Who's the gentleman with the
fireman's helmet on, and what's he worrying about?"
"He is an officer of the police, sir, on special service," the man
answered.
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