, in a
coach, and see he doesn't escape on the way, and get a receipt
for him, and for some papers. This is a very important prisoner;
I don't think Hartenstein has anybody he can trust to handle him.
The prisoner claims to be some sort of a British diplomat, and
for all Hartenstein knows, maybe he is. Also, he is a madman."

"A madman?" I echoed.

"Yes, just so. At least, that's what Hartenstein told me. I wanted
to know what sort of a madman--there are various kinds of madmen,
all of whom must be handled differently--but all Hartenstein would
tell me was that he had unrealistic beliefs about the state of
affairs in Europe."

"Ha! What diplomat hasn't?" I asked.

Old Keitel gave a laugh, somewhere between the bark of a dog and
the croaking of a raven.

"Yes, exactly! The unrealistic beliefs of diplomats are what
soldiers die of," he said. "I said as much to Hartenstein, but he
wouldn't tell me anything more. He seemed to regret having said
even that much. He looked like a man who's seen a particularly
terrifying ghost." The old man puffed hard at his famous pipe for
a while, blowing smoke through his mustache. "Rudi, Hartenstein
has pulled a hot potato out of the ashes, this time, and he wants
to toss it to your uncle, before he burns his fingers. I think
that's one reason why he got me to furnish an escort for his
Englishman. Now, look; you must take this unrealistic diplomat,
or this undiplomatic madman, or whatever in blazes he is, in to
Berlin. And understand this." He pointed his pipe at me as though
it were a pistol. "Your orders are to take him there and turn him
over at the Ministry of Police. Nothing has been said about
whether you turn him over alive, or dead, or half one and half
the other. I know nothing about this business, and want to know
nothing; if Hartenstein wants us to play goal warders for him,
then he must be satisfied with our way of doing it!"

Well, to cut short the story, I looked at the coach Hartenstein
had placed at my disposal, and I decided to chain the left door
shut on the outside, so that it couldn't be opened from within.
Then, I would put my prisoner on my left, so that the only way out
would be past me. I decided not to carry any weapons which he
might be able to snatch from me, so I took off my saber and locked
it in the seat box, along with the dispatch case containing the
Englishman's papers. It was cold enough to wear a greatcoat in
comfort, so I wore mine, and in the