“Tomorrow night, we’ll have a committee meeting. Do you know where the Alte Rosenbad is? It’s on Herren Strasse.”
The smile remained unmoved on the lips as Halstead’s eyes looked over his host’s shoulder at the room of staring men. “Yes, I believe I do. What time?”
“Seven again.” Drexler’s hand dropped from the shoulder. “I’ll see you at seven.” The locksmith pushed at his spectacles and turned away from his guest without another word.
Halstead turned back to the doorway, and allowed his smile to broaden with each successive step as he gripped the pamphlet in his hands and marched back up the stairs.
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Halstead passed through the perfectly-empty dining room of the Alte Rosenbad and arrived at the next night’s meeting of the Committee of the German Workers’ Party with military precision. He stiffly seated himself in the seventh chair placed at the table in the center of the room after introducing himself to each and every one of the other four attendees. Drexler, the chairman of the party’s Munich district, greeted the new man with warm enthusiasm after following Halstead into the back room, but Harrer the national chairman was very cool to Halstead upon the former’s late arrival.
The six members present got down to the business of the party, which at that moment consisted of listening to and approving a treasurer’s report (total number of marks in the party coffers: seven), replying to correspondence from affiliated parties in the north of Germany, and generally carrying on in the manner of a small club. As the meeting progressed, Halstead leaned back in his chair with folded arms and assumed a stony silence.
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