'Good day to you, Herr Blenkiron,' he cried over his shoulder.

'If you consider your comfort, don't talk English to strange travellers.

They don't distinguish between the different brands.' I followed him in a hurry, but was recalled by Blenkiron's voice.
'Say, friend,' he shouted, 'you've left your grip,' and he handed me my bag from the luggage rack.

But he showed no sign of recognition, and the last I saw of him was sitting sunk in a corner with his head on his chest as if he were going to sleep.

He was a man who kept up his parts well.
There was a motor-car waiting--one of the grey military kind--and we started at a terrific pace over bad forest roads.