“I am satisfied of several things,” I retorted sharply, “but before I share them with you, will you kindly tell me your name?”

“My name is Ritter,” he said with dignity.  “I confess I fail to see what bearing—­”

“Call it curiosity,” I interrupted.  “Doctor, favor me with yours.”

The doctor peered at me over his glasses, hesitated, and then revealed his patronym.  It was Swanburger, he informed me.

“But, my dear sir, what on earth—­”

“Merely,” said I, with conviction, “that this isn’t an Allies’ night.  It is Deutschland uber Alles; the stars are fighting for the Teuton race.  Now, let’s hear how you were christened,” I added, turning to the house detective, who looked even less sunny than before if that could be.

“See here, whatcher giving us?” snarled that somewhat unpolished worthy.  “My name’s Zeitfeld; but I was born in this country, don’t you forget it, same as you.”

“A great American personality,” I remarked dreamily, “has declared that in the hyphenate lies the chief menace to the United States.  And what’s your name?” I asked the representative of law and order.  “Is it Schmidt?”

“No, sir,” he responded, grinning; “it’s O’Reilly, sorr.”

“Thank heaven for that!  You’ve saved my reason,” I assured him as I leaned against the wall and scanned the Germanic hordes.

“Mr. Ritter,” said I, addressing that gentleman coldly, “when I am next in New York I don’t think I shall stop with you.  The atmosphere here is too hectic; you answer calls for help too slowly—­calls, at least, in which a guest indiscreetly tells you that he has caught a German thief.  It looks extremely queer, gentlemen.  And there are some other points as well—­”

But there I paused.  I lacked the necessary conviction.  After all I was the average citizen, with the average incredulity of the far-fetched, the melodramatic, the absurd.  To connect the head waiter’s panic at my departure with the episode in my room, to declare that the floor clerks had been called from their posts for a set purpose, and the halls deliberately cleared for the thief, were flights of fancy that were beyond me.  The more fool I!

By the time I saw the last of the adventure I began that night—­it was all written in the nth power, and introduced in more or less important roles the most charming girl in the world, the most spectacular hero of France, the cleverest secret-service agent in the pay of the fatherland, and I sometimes ruefully suspected, the biggest imbecile of the United States in the person of myself—­I knew better than to call any idea impossible simply because it might sound wild.  But at the moment my education was in its initial stages, and turning with a shrug from three scowling faces, I led my friendly bluecoat a little aside.

“I’ve no more time to-night to spend thief-catching, Officer,” I told him.  I had just recalled my dinner, now utterly ruined, and Dunny, probably at this instant cracking walnuts as fiercely as if each one were the kaiser’s head.  “But I’m an amateur in these affairs, and you are a master.  Before I go, as man to man, what the dickens do you make of this?”