Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/28

 and I gave them to Preminger. "You will allow me, gentlemen, to have my lunch, I suppose?"

Preminger bowed. "In the meanwhile we will have a look at the books, everything is of interest to us, both written and printed matter." They sat down and removed books from the shelves; I had my lunch in the next room. I was calm and said to myself: whatever it may be, I must show no weakness. I ate slowly, from outside could be heard the measured snorting of the motor-car, in the next room my guests were engaged in conversation. "I tell you that the Roumanians will go against us, I was ten years in a Roumanian regiment and I know them“, expounded the Captain.

"I don't believe it", declared Preminger and closed one of my books noisily.

I was finished and went in to them.

"I will take these letters with me", remarked Preminger and he thrust some letters of Kramář into his breast-pocket. "And now we will see whether anything else will suit us. First of all show us all your correspondence."

"War-time? Or all of it?"

"The whole lot."

I began with the dead. Winter—

"Who was he?"

"An author, and excellent man. Further: Čech—"

"Who was he?"

"A great poet. A field-marshal was ordered to his funeral. Vrchlický—"

"Ah, Vrhliky,—I have heard of him. Is he dead too?"

"Slavíček, a painter —"

"Is he dead too?"

"He shot himself"—Šimáček, Neruda, Sládek—