1 Branch of the Waiters' Union?"
"Quite sure, sir," I told him.
"Stand over there for a few minutes," he directed, pointing to the
farthest corner of the room.
I obeyed, and he talked with Hirsch for several moments in an undertone.
Then he turned once more to me.
"We shall accept you, Paul Schmidt," he said gravely. "You will come
before the committee with us now."
I saluted, but said nothing. Hirsch pushed away the table, and, stooping
down, touched what seemed to be a spring in the floor. A slight crack was
instantly disclosed, which gradually widened until it disclosed a ladder.
We descended, and found ourselves in a dry cellar, lit with electric
lights. Seven men were sitting round a small table, in the farthest
corner of the place. Their conversation was suspended as we appeared, and
my interlocutor, leaving Hirsch and myself in the background, at once
plunged into a discussion with them. I, too, should have followed him,
but Hirsch laid his hand upon my arm.
"Wait a little," he whispered. "They will call us up."
"Who is he?" I asked, pointing to the tall military figure bending
stiffly down at the table.
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