Back in his own berth, he put his things together, ready to leave at Munich.

Then he rang for the porter.
"I am getting out at the next stop," he announced.
"Very good, Monsieur," the man answered.
Bellamy looked at him closely.
"You are a Frenchman ?" "It is so, Monsieur!" "I may be wrong," Bellamy continued slowly, "but I believe that if I asked you a question and it concerned some Germans and Austrians you would tell me the truth." The man's gesture was inimitable.

Englishmen to him were obviously the salt of the earth.

Germans and Austrians--why, they existed as the cattle in the fields--nothing more.

Bellamy gave him a sovereign.
"There were three Austrians who got in at Vienna," he said.