“Yes, I am Herr Veinricht,” I admitted, resigning myself to this German version of my name.
“Macht nichts! I arrest you in the name of the Grand Duchess.”
“Arrest me! Will you be good enough to inform me upon what charge?”
“Upon the charge of consorting with dangerous characters, and being an enemy to the tranquillity of the State. You will please to dress as quickly as possible. A carriage awaits you below.”
“Good Lord! they have somehow connected me with Sebastian Roch,” I groaned inwardly. And I began to put certain finishing touches to my toilet.
“No, no,” cried the officer. “You must put on your dress-suit. Can you be so ignorant of criminal etiquette as not to know that State prisoners are required to wear their dress-suits?”
“It seems an absurd regulation,” said I, “but I will put on my dress-suit.”
“We will await you outside your door; but let me warn you, should you attempt to escape through your window, you will be shot in a hundred places,” said the officer, and retired with his minions.
The whole population of the hotel were in the corridors through which I had presently to pass with my custodians, and they pressed after us to the street. A closed carriage stood there, with four horses attached, each “near” horse bearing a postilion.
Three other horses, saddled, were tied to posts about the hotel entrance. These the gendarmes mounted.
“Will you enter the carriage?” said the officer.
But my spirit rose in arms. “I insist upon knowing what I’m arrested for. I want to understand the definite nature of the charge against me.”
“I am not a magistrate. Will you kindly enter the carriage?”
“Oh, this is a downright outrage,” I declared, and entered the carriage.
The officer leaped in after me, the door was slammed to, the postilions yelled at their horses, off we drove, followed by the rhythmical clank-clank of the gendarmes.
“I should like to get at the meaning of all this, you know,” I informed my captor.
“My dear sir, you do not begin to appreciate the premises. One less ignorant of military fashions would have perceived from my coat long since that I am a provost-marshal.”
“Well, and what of that? I suppose you are none the less able to explain my position to me.”
“Position, sir! This is trifling. But I must caution you that whatever you say will be remembered, and, if incriminating, used against you.”