Wilhelm Franz-Ruller saw the two girls standing in the middle of the road, waving their arms at him. Automatically he put his hand to the horn. They jumped quickly back to the verge as he swept by them.

He put his foot quickly on the brake. He had seen that they were very beautiful. He had also seen that they were both wearing leather jackets, and he had a strong perverted fetish for leather jackets that were worn by beautiful women. With no memory of his decision of a few minutes ago not to take chances with hitch-hikers, he put the car into reverse and backed towards the bridge.

The girls picked up their ruck-sacks and opened the doors of the Rolls. The red-head got into the front, the blonde into the back. They disposed their ruck-sacks on the other end of the back seat.

"Thank you very much," said the red-head in German. "You are German, aren't you? You have a German number."

"Yes," said Wilhelm Franz-Ruller, his eyes on their leather jackets, "I am German. But you are not, huh?"

"No, we are Swedes. And we don't speak German very well."

"You speak it beautifully."

"Thank you, but that is not true."

"Where are you heading for?"

"Kiel."

He made sure that their doors were shut, and drove off again. "How nice for me. I am going to Kiel, too."

They drove for some time in silence. Then: "Are you going to Kiel for a holiday?" he asked.

"A sort of holiday," answered the blonde, from the back of the car. "A friend of ours is a governess there."