"Ecce!" cried a station porter, pausing in the act of transferring luggage from a trolley to the train: "Anarchist Assassin!" and he stared at Grigor, as if challenging him to deny the accusation, but Pearl Pinkus and her sister Pola, burst out laughing: "naughty Polly, bad parrot!" and explained in several languages to the porter and his mate who gawped, bewildered by the onslaught from to two elderly women, that as ever man trod shoe-leather, their pet had developed a life-long fear of Anarchist Assassins and was forever trying to start a hue-and-cry by accusing men in general and respectable police officers, sailors, ex-soldiers, railway porters and door-to-door salesmen of being such villains, on the run, and the offer of some currant cake convinced the porters that the parrot was one of those hyper-vigilant citizens forever trying to create mayhem where no grounds existed, so when Pearl put the thick cover over the cage, the quieted bird was moved onto the train and Grigor moved his hand away from his ankle and the revolver and sat back on the bench with a feeling of desuetude replacing the sense of panic and fear that he might so easily have been arrested; by which time the other newly-naturalized Swiss passengers from the Cabaret Voltaire and Kermit Hackensack's News Agency had arrived and were about to begin boarding; but first Kermit explained that their two Wagons-Lit coaches and the dining-car which was positioned between them, would be taken by an Austrian Imperial Railways engine to the Border with Germany, just west of Salzburg, then the Austrian locomotive would be replaced with a German one, which would take them for the short dog-leg west skirting the Chiemsee to Rosenheim and then south towards Kiefersfelden and back into Austria, where yet another Austrian locomotive would take over for the long sweep towards Switzerland: "as this is an Express Train," said Hackensack, "there will only be a few stops – when the engines are being changed over – we shall stay on board these Wagons-Lit carriages until the train arrives at it's destination – Zurich; the only people who will board it, will be Border Guards when we cross the Austrian-German border twice, at Nirgendwoistville and Derortmitkeynnomen, then Liechtenstein Border Guards when we enter the Principality and Swiss when we cross the final frontier into Switzerland; our restaurant car is stocked with a week's provisions . . . . ." and to cries of anger and distress that a journey of only 593 kilometres might take a whole week, he appealed for calm: "it should only take us two days but I have allowed for delays; Austria and Germany are officially at war with France, Great Britain, Russia and pretty much everyone else and their railway networks are now carrying military materiel – the desire of a group of Neutrals," and he looked up as though asking the Lord to forgive this necessary deception, "to go Home already, is secondary to their war preparations – be grateful we're not trying to get from Zurich to St Petersburg, now that would be quite another kind of journey!