He looked up heavenward, where the three bergs shouldered the dazzling
snow into the blue. This impressed him more than all else; that little
wrinkle in the middle berg's ice had been there when he was a boy.
Nothing had changed in Dreiberg save the Koenig Strasse, whose cobbles
had been replaced by smooth blocks of wood. At times he sent swift but
uncertain glances toward the palaces. He longed to peer through the
great iron fence, but he smothered this desire. He would find out what
he wanted to know when he met Carmichael at the consulate. Here the bell
in the cathedral struck the tenth hour; not a semitone had this voice of
bronze changed in all these years. It was good to be here in Dreiberg
again. Should he ask the way to the Adlergasse? Perhaps this would be
wiser. So he put the question to a policeman. The officer politely gave
him a detailed route.
"Follow these directions and you will have no trouble in finding the
Adlergasse."
"Much obliged."
Trouble? Scarcely! He had put out his first protest against the world in
the Adlergasse, forty years since. He came to a stand before the old
tavern. Not even the sign had been painted anew, though the oak board
was a trifle paler and there was a little more rust on the hinges.
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