THE YELLOW DOVE
She stumbled on before him, her head jerking anxiously this way and that over her shoulder as though she feared at any moment to receive a blow or a shot in the back. But he followed her indoors and noted with satisfaction that she appeared after all to be a woman of some intelligence. A thing that pleased him further was the telephone instrument in the corner.
“Milk, if you please, and quickly. I will take the bread with me.” And while she timorously brought them out, “Who lives here?”
“F-Förster Habermehl.”
“Where is he?” peremptorily.
“At Windenberg.”
“Oh! There are no men here?”
“No.”
“That is well, then.” He drank a glass of milk greedily and tore off a piece of the loaf. “You are a good girl. Heaven will reward you.” He made his way to the door, looking out cautiously, and then turned and put his hand in his pocket, bringing out a piece of money. “See,” he laughed, “I have concluded to reward you myself. Cash. Much better than hopes, nicht wahr?”
She fetched a timorous smile and bobbed shyly.
“You will do me a favor,” he said in a whisper as he went out of the door, “if you will tell no one of my visit.”
And with that, chuckling to himself, went down the road again in the direction of Schöndorf, watching the turn in the road below the village for a glimpse of Wentz and his men. Before he reached the edge of the open country he paused and listened. From the house that he had visited came the faint tinkle of a bell. Frau Habermehl had lost no time. She had notified
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