THE YELLOW DOVE
of what had been a pitiful failure; only an act of Providence could save him from the discreditable end that awaited him.
He drew up his knees and studied the knots at his ankles. His guardian was the one who had tied them.
“You tie a good square knot, my friend. You were once a sailor?”
But nothing would induce the soldier to talk.
As the supper hour approached, Hammersley could hear the rattle of pans and dishes downstairs and noticed the odor of coffee. They would not starve him, of course. In a little while someone would come with food. After a while, which seemed interminable, the noise of the rattling dishes ceased and there was a sound at the door into the hall as the key turned in the lock and Captain Wentz entered. His sturdy back had never seemed so ugly nor so welcome, for the silence and the inaction were getting on Hammersley’s nerves. The officer came over to the bed and gravely examined the knots of the rope that bound the prisoner. Then, satisfied with the results of his inspection, he straightened and glanced around the room.
“Gut,” he muttered. And then to the soldier: “You will go down and tell Lindberg to bring Herr Hammersley’s supper. I will stay here in the meanwhile. You will then relieve the man at the door of his Excellenz.”
The man saluted and departed. They still trusted Lindberg. Then Udo had suspected nothing, or if he had suspected, had kept his thoughts to himself. Hammersley lay back on the pillow preparing a stolid indifference for Lindberg’s entrance. And when the meal was brought, Wentz untied his hands and stood over him with an automatic while he ate.
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