“Why do they have field militia here?”
“This is a military camp, please. In connection with the munition factory.”
“Aha! And there’s only a guard just round this place?”
“Here there are only patrols, please. The chain is further away, behind the wood.”
“What chain?”
“The protective zone, please. No one is allowed to go there.”
“And if anyone wants to leave the place—”
“Then he must obtain a permit from the camp commandant. Does the gentleman require anything more?”
“No, thank you.”
Like a satiated Eastern potentate, Prokop stretched himself out on the divan. Well, we shall see, he said to himself; so far things were not so bad. He wished to reflect on the matter but instead could only remember the way in which Carson had jumped about in front of him. Supposing he hadn’t caught him? he thought and set off in pursuit. It was only a question of a jump of about fifteen feet; but Carson soared up like a grasshopper and flew smoothly over a clump of bushes. Prokop stamped his feet and rose after him, but he had scarcely raised his feet when he found himself skimming over the tops of the bushes. Another jump and he was flying God knows whither, not worrying any more about Carson. He glided about amongst trees, as light and as free as a bird; he tried a few movements with his legs and found himself rising higher. This pleased him inordinately. With powerful strokes he circled up and up. Below him, like a beautiful map, there appeared the prospect of the castle park with its arbours, lawns and serpentine paths; one could distinguish the tennis courts, the pond, the roof of the castle, the birch wood; over there was the yard with the dogs, and the pine wood and the wired fence, and to the right began the munition sheds and behind them the high wall. Prokop made his way through the air over the part of the park which he had not yet visited. On the way there he saw that what he had regarded as a terrace was really the old fortifications of the castle, a powerful bastion with a moat, evidently formerly filled from the lake. He was principally interested in that part of the park between the main entrance and the bastion; there there were overgrown paths and wild bushes, and a wall a good nine feet high, beneath which was some sort of a rubbish heap; beyond was a kitchen garden and round it a wall in which was a green gate; the other side of the gate ran the main road. “I’ll have a look in that direction,” said Prokop to himself, and descended a little. But at this point there appeared on the road a squadron of cavalry with drawn sabres, advancing directly upon him. Prokop drew his knees up to his chin, so that they should not slash at him; but through this movement received such an impulse that he once more flew up to a height like an arrow. When he looked down again he saw everything small as on a map; down on the main road there was moving a tiny battery of artillery, the polished muzzle of a gun was turned upwards, a small white cloud appeared and bang! The first shell flew over Prokop’s head. They’re firing at me, he thought, and quickly waved his arms so as to descend. Bang! Another shell whizzed passed Prokop’s nose. He took to flight as quickly as he was able. Bang! A third shell struck away his wings and Prokop shot head downwards to earth and woke up. Someone was knocking at the door.
“Come in,” cried Prokop, and sprang up, not knowing what it was all about.
There entered the room a white-haired aristocratic-looking gentleman in black, who bowed deeply.
Prokop remained standing and waited to see what the distinguished gentleman might say.
“Drehbein,” said the minister (at least!) and bowed again.
Prokop bowed equally deeply. “Prokop,” he introduced himself. “What can I do for you?”
“If you will kindly remain standing for a moment.”
“Please,” said Prokop, frightened as to what was going to happen to him.
The white-haired gentleman studied Prokop attentively for a moment; then he walked round him and became absorbed in the contemplation of his back.
“If you would kindly draw yourself up a little.”
Prokop became as rigid as a soldier; what the devil—
“Allow me,” said the gentleman, and knelt down in front of Prokop.
“What do you want?” gasped out Prokop, recoiling.
“To take your measure.” And he drew out of his coat tails a tape measure and began to consider Prokop’s trousers.
Prokop receded as far as the window. “Stop it, will you?” he said, irritated. “I’ve ordered no clothes.”
“I’ve already received instructions,” said the gentleman respectfully.
“Listen,” said Prokop, recovering control of himself, “go to—I don’t want any clothes and that’s that! Do you understand?”
“Please,” agreed Mr. Drehbein, and he squatted down in front of Prokop, lifted his waistcoat and began to measure the top of his trousers. “Two inches more,” he noted, getting up. “Allow me.” And he slipped his hand along to Prokop’s armpit in a professional manner. “A little more free.”
“Good,” muttered Prokop and turned his back on him.
“Thank you,” said the gentleman and smoothed out a crease on the back of his coat.
Prokop swung round, furious. “Take your hands away, man, or—”
“Excuse me,” said the gentleman and gently passed his arms round his waist. Before Prokop had time to fell him to the ground he had loosened his waistcoat strap, had stepped back and was regarding Prokop’s waist with his head on one side. “So,” he said, completely satisfied and bowed deeply. “I beg to take leave of you.”
“Go to the devil,” cried Prokop after him, and “It won’t be tomorrow now,” he said to himself, after which he began to pace from one corner of the room to the other. “Holy smoke, do these people
