the
shadowed shop, the owner of the Stores, Manfred Hegner by name, came
forward to take her orders himself.

Manfred Hegner was quite a considerable person in Witanbury. Not only
was he the biggest retail tradesman in the place, and an active member
of the Witanbury City Council, but he was known to have all sorts of
profitable irons in the fire. A man to keep in with, obviously, and one
who was always willing to meet one half-way. Because of his German
birth--he had been naturalised some years ago--and even more because of
certain facial and hirsute peculiarities, he went by the nickname of
"The Kaiser."

Mrs. Otway took out of her bag a piece of paper on which she had written
down, at her old Anna's dictation, a list of groceries and other things
needed at the Trellis House. And then she looked round, instinctively,
towards the corner of the large shop where all that remained of what had
once been the mainstay of Manfred Hegner's business was always
temptingly set forth. This was a counter of _Delicatessen_. Glancing at
the familiar corner, Mr. Hegner's customer told herself that her eyes
must be playing her false. In the place of the familiar sausages,
herrings, the pretty coloured basins of sauerkraut, and other savoury
dainties, there now stood nothing but a row of large uninteresting Dutch
cheeses!

The man who was waiting attentively by her side, a pencil and block of
paper in his hand, saw the surprised, regretful look on his valued
customer's face.

"I have had to put away all my nice, fresh _Delicatessen_," he said in a
low voice. "It seemed wiser to do so, gracious lady." He spoke in
German, and it was in German that she answered.

"Did you really think it necessary to do such a thing? I think you are
unfair on your adopted country, Mr. Hegner! English people are not so
unreasonable as that."

He was about to answer, when an odd-looking man, rather like a sailor,
came in, and Mr. Hegner, with a hurried "Please excuse me one minute,
ma'am," in English, went off to attend to the new comer.

As Mr. Hegner went across his shop, Mrs. Otway was struck by his curious
resemblance to the German Emperor; in spite of the fact that he was
wearing a long white apron, he had quite a martial air. He certainly
deserved his nickname. There were the same piercing, rather prominent
eyes, the same look of energy and decision in his face; also the same
peculiar turned-up moustache. But whereas the resemblance last week