I snatched the key from Gretchen, who was now very white and shaky, opened the drawing-room door and was going to rush in, when it occurred to me that if Nessa was caught off her guard, she might let out something.
"All right, Gretchen, thank you," I said, loudly enough for Nessa to hear.
The woman flung up her hands and bolted, and I went in as if making an ordinary call.
Nessa had rushed into the conservatory to escape from von Erstein and came back as I entered, her face flushed and her eyes ablaze with furious indignation, while he, dumbfounded and looking as black as thunder, scowled at me viciously.
"This man has grossly insulted me, Herr Lassen!" she cried. "Taking advantage of the Countess's absence, he got me here on the pretence of a message to be given to her, and then—— Ugh! I can't speak it;" and she dropped into a chair and hid her face in her hands.
"I only took your advice, Lassen, and asked Miss Caldicott to marry me," he said sullenly. "And then she——"
"Did you advise that?" broke in Nessa, starting up excitedly.
That wasn't the moment to explain things, of course. Something had to be attended to first. I walked up to von Erstein with intentional deliberation, feeling a little thrill of joy at the fright in his eyes, put my hand on the collar of his coat, and led him towards the door. He was too abjectly scared to make more than the merest show of resistance.
"Have you anything more to say to him?" I asked Nessa, halting when we reached the door.
"No, no. Only send him away. Send him away," she exclaimed.
I took him out into the hall and then released him. "I'm going to thrash you, von Erstein. Two reasons. You made your spy here lock this door so that you could have that girl to yourself; and yesterday you said things which made me itch to thrash you then."
"I didn't mean——"
"That'll do. Don't tell any more lies."
He tried to bluster. "You'd better not strike me, Lassen; I can——"
A smack on the face, given with all my strength, caused the threat to die stillborn and also showed the stuff he was made of. He pretended that the force of it knocked him down and nothing would induce him to get up again. So the fight ended where it began, as I couldn't hit him while he lay on the ground. Regretting that the one smack had been such a poor one, I dragged him into the hall, plopped him on to the doormat, and chucked him his hat, swearing that if he stopped in Berlin, the job would be finished in workmanlike fashion. He squirmed there long enough to see that no more was coming, then opened the door, paused to curse and threaten me, and bolted.
Nessa was furious, and her first question showed that some of her anger was for me. Von Erstein's little shaft about my "advice" had gone home. "Is what that man said true? Did you advise him to ask me to marry him?" the emphasis strongly on the "advise."
I nodded; and very naturally her lip curled.
"I wouldn't have believed it possible," she exclaimed.
"He told me yesterday about things and I asked him if he had asked you. If that's advising, I advised."
"And yet you know the kind of man he is and that he has been persecuting me in this fashion?"
"But anyhow I didn't advise you to accept him."
"Jack!" she cried indignantly.
"Herr Lassen's safer, and in German too."
"It's almost enough to make me say I'll never speak to you again."
"Worse than he is, eh?" It was really a curious thing, but we never seemed able to resist a chance of misunderstanding one another; and when she took this line, it was impossible for me to resist chipping her.
"Did you thrash him?" she asked after a pause.
"No; not an easy job in the circs."
"You've developed a wise discretion," she said with a smile which wasn't exactly soothing.
"He's a fellow with a lot of influence, you see."
There was one feature about our tiffs; they generally ended all right; and this time she seemed to realize that we were off the lines. She thought a while and her manner changed. "Do you want me to believe that after what happened here and what I said, you just thanked him and shook hands? Because I don't believe it. I heard you hit him. That's why I asked if you'd thrashed him."
"I smacked his face, as a sort of preface, but he lay down and wouldn't get up, so I had to cart him out to the front door. A poor show; but I fancy he'll give me a wide berth in the future. Would you care to tell me what passed?"
"He sent up that woman, Gretchen, to say that he was leaving Berlin and that the Countess had given him a message for me about something she had of his. I was only too thankful to hear he was going away, and when I got down, she locked the door. It was all planned, of course; and he asked me to marry him, and when I gave him his answer, he grabbed hold of me and kissed me. I broke from him and rushed into the conservatory, intending to get out that way into the garden; but he had fastened the window, and when I was trying to get it open, you came, thank Heaven."
"I guessed that was about the size of it."
"I was never more relieved in my life."
"Even though it was only me."
"Yes, even though it was only you." This with a smile, however, which quite belied her indifferent tone.
"Well, it's all right now. As a matter of fact he has found it wise to leave in consequence of a hint I gave him yesterday."
"Tell me."
"Better let it wait a while." There was nothing to be gained by telling her the truth. "I came to see if there is any news."
"There is, unfortunately. I've received an order from the police to report myself to-morrow."
"The deuce you have! I wonder what that means. Who signed it?"
"Baron von Gratzen."
I stared at her in amazement. Confound the man. Here he was cropping up again in this mysteriously unexpected fashion. "When did you get it?"
"Only a minute or two before that man called."
What on earth could it mean? It looked as if he had gone straight from his promise to help her to leave and then sent this. "Where have you to report?"
"The Amtstrasse," and she handed me the paper. It came from his offices and was signed in his own handwriting.
"I give it up. These beggars beat me every time. Only an hour or two back he told me that you should be sent back home," and I told her about that part of the interview and that he had said I could tell Rosa. "It's true he said something about making some inquiries about you, so as to be satisfied you're not a spy."
"Then of course he's going to begin by questioning me himself."
"Possibly, but—I get such different reports about him. You'll have to look out, too. He's sure to cross-examine you about me. I can't get it out of my head that he suspects I'm flying under the wrong flag. You'd better never have seen me before, mind; and whatever you do, look out for traps and things; and he's as artful as a cartload of monkeys at the game."
She was tremendously excited by the news about going home. I had to repeat every word he had said about it, and of course she got out of me that he had spoken about our going home together.
"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely!" she exclaimed.
"To go with me?"
"To go with any one, of course," she said with sudden indifference. "If you'd been through half that I have and had a quarter of the suspense I've had to endure, you'd be glad too."
"I'm glad enough, as it is. I think this beastly climate is anything but healthy for either of us just now."
"Oh, to be free once more!" she cried with a deep, deep sigh of longing. "Do you know that more than once I've been on the point of risking everything and just bolting and chancing my luck."
"Which reminds me that I'd better tell you the spare wheels I've been thinking about, if these other tyres burst. I haven't had much chance of talking to you yet, you know."
"We had one interview," she reminded me, her eye dancing.
"We'll try to do a bit better this time. The best thing will be old von Gratzen's scheme, if it comes off."
"We should have to be together a long time, if it does."
"Rather rotten, eh? But I could bear it, I think, if you could."
"I should have to, naturally."
"We could discuss our old grievances, at the worst."
"And at the best?" she said demurely, trying not to laugh.
"Find fresh ones to jingle-jangle about. But you'll have to behave yourself; for I shall be a German for the first part of the trip, remember."
"And if you don't behave yourself, I can tell people you're not one. You'll have to remember that, mind."
"Behave myself? Meaning?"
"That you're not to talk nonsense then or now; so go on to the spare wheels, please."
"All right. The next best will be for you to use Rosa's ticket and so on, and travel with her Oscar."
"But Rosa said you wouldn't hear of that, and you don't imagine I'm going to let the man run that risk for me. Any more wheels?"
"One. That if the worst comes to the worst, we just disappear and chance the weather;" and I described my idea—to go in disguise as a couple of mechanics.
"They're using a lot of women, but not as mechanics yet," she said.
I laughed. "But you'd go as a boy, Nessa."
"As a what?" she cried in amazement.
"I said boy. B-o-y. Easy word."
She stared at me for a moment or two as if I was mad, and then her eyes lit up and she burst out laughing. "Do you know why I'm laughing?"
"At me, probably."
"Not a bit of it. Because it's exactly the idea I had. I have the clothes ready for it and a set of overalls; and often and often I've locked myself in my room, dressed up, and rehearsed everything. You know how I've played a boy's part in the theatricals at home; I can shove my hands in my pockets and swagger along just like one. I make rather a good boy."
"Good?"
"Good enough for a boy, anyhow," she replied, laughing again.
"Show me."
She rose, pushed hands down as if into her trouser pockets, and walked up and down the room with a free stride. "Give us a fag, mate," she said when she reached me. "That all right?" she asked, relapsing into herself and sitting down again.
"Rather! Ripping! Why, you managed somehow to alter the very expression." She had. The change was wonderful. "With a touch or two of make-up not a soul would spot you. But you were always a bit of a boy, you know. Perhaps that accounts for it."
"That meant for a compliment?"
"Just as you take it. You were a self-willed little beggar, anyhow. Do you remember how shocked your mother was that night at the Grahams, when you came on their little stage as a boy?"
"I do, indeed. Poor mother! She must have been awfully worried by all this; and is still, of course. But Rosa has written to a friend in Switzerland and asked her to wire that I'm all right; and perhaps by this time she's had the message. It's horribly wicked, I suppose, but I declare I feel so vindictive that I could almost kill that woman Gretchen and von Erstein too, when I think of what they've made poor mother suffer by stopping my letters."
"He's a low-down swine; and if I get half a chance, I'll even things up with him before we leave. But we don't want to talk about him now. If your mother's got that wire, she'll feel heaps better. Now, tell me what you think of my third wheel?"
"Shall I tell you the truth?"
"Of course."
She paused and the colour crept slowly into her face, robbing it of the worried anxiety which had so distressed me and making her as bewitchingly pretty as ever in my eyes. "If you will have the truth I'd—I'd like the third wheel better than either of the others."
"Same here; but it wouldn't be so safe. We'll have the props with us, however, in case of mishaps. What say you?"
"Carried unanimously," she cried enthusiastically. "It would be lovely!"
"You haven't changed much, then, even with all this."
"Do you mean in looks?"
"Not much there, even; but I meant in the tomboy business."
"Ah, you don't know. I have changed. I've grown up, suddenly. It couldn't be otherwise," she answered very seriously. "At one time it looked a certainty that I should be sent to gaol, and the suspense was—well, almost unbearable. No one can tell what it meant to have to appear indifferent and confident, when I knew that any moment might be my last in freedom. That danger seemed to pass away, but only to give way to worse."
"You mean this——"
"Yes," she broke in with a quick nod. "I can't bear even to hear his name mentioned. I soon knew what his real object was; he has a friend, a man like himself, who is in command of one of the concentration camps: the one at Krustadt: and—but you can guess. There was only one thing for me to do, and I prepared for it. I have the poison upstairs."
"Nessa!"
"No woman can go through such an ordeal and come out unchanged. I should have made a fight for it, of course. I told Rosa, and, although she was horrified at first, she saw it afterwards, and then she got Herr Feldmann to get me an identification card as Hans Bulich, and helped me get the disguise. I should have gone by now, if you hadn't come. Oh yes, I'm changed; no one knows how much except myself."
The drawn intentness of her expression at the moment showed this so plainly that I was too much moved to find any words to reply. But she rallied quickly and laughed.
"And then when you came I was mad enough to believe you were a spy! I can't think why I was such a fool. There was no excuse; not the slightest; and I don't expect you ever to forgive me really."
"I don't blame you. I don't, on my honour."
"Well, I shall never forgive myself then. But—even now I can't help staring at you."
"Stare away. I like it. But why?"
"You're so—so utterly different."
"How?"
"In every way possible."
"Think so. Every way?" Our eyes met and she looked down.
"I wonder," she murmured under her breath; and then quickly in a louder tone: "Of course it's your new life. Tell me about it."
We both understood; but that wasn't the time to tell her she need not "wonder"; so I spoke about things at the Front.
"But I want your own experiences, Jack," she protested.
"I'm Herr Lassen, the man without a memory."
"You're just as provoking as ever. You know that I'm dying to hear everything, and you won't utter a word."
"Well, I'll tell you one thing. It was all your doing."
She crinkled her forehead in a way I knew so well. "How?"
"Do you remember one day at Hendon—we were engaged then, by the by—how you ragged me about not having the pluck to go up and about cricket being so much safer a sport, and how I flung away in a huff and marched off and got a ticket at once and went up. That was the start."
"And I remember, too, what a fright it gave me when I saw you go. I watched the aeroplane with my heart in my mouth all the time in a sort of fascinated panic lest something should go wrong."
"And when I came to look for you I found you'd gone up too."
"You don't suppose I meant you to crow over me, do you? And was that really the beginning?"
"Of course. I went up lots of times afterwards and got to like it; and when the trouble came, naturally I saw it was my job."
"Be a pal, and tell me all about what you did," she coaxed.
"All in good time, but not now. We've been alone together quite long enough to set tongues wagging as it is. I'd better be off;" and I rose.
"I suppose you're right; but it's been lovely. Like old times."
"Which old times?"
"Never mind. Don't be inquisitive."
"All right. Well, look here. Go on with that boy part of yours. Get into the skin of it, and have the names of things pat on your tongue. One never knows what may happen. And if you could persuade Rosa to persuade Feldmann to do for me what he did for you, do so."
"Sounds a bit mixed, doesn't it?" and she laughed with such genuine merriment that it did one good to hear her.
"You must sort it out. So long. We'll pull it off somehow or other."
"I think that's the oddest thing about you. You manage somehow to make me feel absolutely confident that you'll manage it. It's like a miracle. Only a day or two ago I was right down in the depths, and here I am laughing as if it were just one of our old kiddish pranks."
The confidence of success which Nessa had so frankly expressed, she had certainly imparted to me. The fact that she had already hit on the idea of playing a boy's part in the attempt to escape, had obtained everything necessary for it, and had actually spent some time in rehearsing it, was a stroke of such luck, that I was more than half inclined to throw the other plans over and adopt that one at once.
If by any means the necessary identification card could be got, the hope of success was strong and full of promise. Nessa could speak German quite as well as I could, and her accent, when she had put that question to me about the fag and her wonderful change of expression, had been done to the life.
She had always been a clever character actress, and there was no doubt that she could keep it up in any sort of emergency. That she liked the idea, there was no question; and as for myself—the thought of such a companionship with her in such a venture pulled like a 200 h.p. engine.
Her instinct was right, too, in chiming with her inclination. It was our best chance—failing old von Gratzen's, of course. Ever so much better than risking any trouble for Rosa by using her passport. Feldmann must be made to see that, for it might induce him to get the card for me.
That night I went most carefully into all the details of the plan, trying to foresee all that might happen; and then I remembered the story which Gunter, my pal in the flying corps, had told me of his escape when engine trouble had brought him down inside the German lines.
"It's only a matter of bluff, Jack," he said, "when one can jabber the lingo as we can, and a few simple precautions. Here's one of 'em. I never go up without it."
"What the dickens is it?" I asked as he handed me what looked like a red flannel pad for his tummy.
"Looks innocent, doesn't it? My 'tummy pad,' I call it. Just a protection against chills, eh? That's what they thought when they searched me. But inside the flannel there's a coil of silk cord long enough and strong enough to tie up a man's arms, and his legs too at need. It's my own notion; and since my little trip, I've added something more. Sewn up in the flannel there's enough put-you-to-by-by stuff to keep a man or two quiet for as long as necessary. If I'd had that, I shouldn't have had to risk knocking my guard on the head and choking the breath out of him."
"Tell me, Dick."
"Well, my chance came almost as soon as they'd got me. Of course I burnt the old bus and shoved my hands up, and after they'd made sure I wasn't armed, they just put one chap in charge of me with orders to take me somewhere. It was quite dark then and, pretending that I was beastly uncomfortable after the search, I fiddled about with my clothes and managed to get my cord handy. Then I picked a suitable spot, asked him some fool question or other, and went for him. He was only a fat Landsturmer and hadn't more than a few wriggles in him; but I had to bash him over the head to make sure—that's where I wanted the dope, of course. Then I changed togs with him, trussed him up with my cord and started off on my own. Bluff did the rest, all right."
"But what did you do, old dear?"
He laughed and lit another cigarette. "I marched into the first cottage I came to, scared the folk out of their lives, and in the name of Kaiser Bill commandeered clothes for a wounded prisoner. They parted like a lamb, and five minutes afterwards I was transformed into a workman."
"But you'd no identification card?"
This brought another quiet laugh. "I worked that all right. There are no asses in the world too bad to bluff if you go the right way about it. My way was to go to the police. I pitched a yarn that I was an aero mechanic and had been sent for to go hotfoot to Ellendorff, a little place close to the Dutch frontier where I knew there was a factory, and that I'd been waylaid and robbed on the road. It sounds thin as I tell it; but I had mucked myself up to look the part, and, above all, I had gone to the police, mind you; itself the best proof that I wasn't a wrong 'un: and I chose the middle of the night, when only one sleepy owl was on duty. He swallowed it all right, except that he thought I was drunk and at first wanted to keep me till the morning; but when I kicked up a fuss, told him he'd get into a devil of a row, and said he'd better call his boss, he thought better of it, gave me what I wanted and was thankful to see my back and go to sleep again. I had no more trouble; was stopped once or twice, but the card got me through; and I reached the frontier easily enough. Luck favoured me there. I ran across a couple of deserters, palled up with them, and—well, that's all."
Gunter's story had made a big impression on me at the time, and in my old student days at Göttingen I had had quite enough experiences of the power of a good bluff on the average German official to know that it was quite feasible, so I resolved to profit by it now.
I had plenty of time the next day to complete all the necessary preparations and added a few of my own devising. These were some "iron rations," in case of difficulties about our food supply; two or three tools, including a heavy spanner which would serve as a weapon at need; and a shabby suit case to hold everything.
I packed everything into this, lifted a board under the lino in my bathroom, and hid it there, lest any one in my absence might take a fancy to go through my luggage.
With a road map and a railway guide the route to be taken was soon decided. The Dutch frontier was to be the goal. It was much nearer than the Swiss; and as Westphalia was the region of factories, it was much more plausible that a couple of mechanics would travel that way, than in any other direction.
Gunter's mention of the one at Ellendorff, a village near Lingen, and close to the frontier, suggested a good objective; and the rough idea was to make the journey in stages, so as to put people off the scent should suspicion be roused. It was safer than risking a trip in one of the through expresses, and also much easier to book from small towns than right through from Berlin.
All this took up a lot of time, especially as it was interrupted by several spells of speculation about the result of Nessa's interview with von Gratzen. This was very important, as it would probably determine the method of our departure; and when my preparations were completed and I was carefully reconsidering them over a cigarette, some one knocked at the door of my flat.
It was a stranger; a well-dressed, sharp-featured man and unmistakably a Jew. "Herr Lassen?" he asked. I nodded. "My name is Rudolff."
"What is it?"
"It would be better for me to tell you my business privately," he replied, with a gesture toward a couple of people passing on the stairs.
I took him into my sitting-room with an extremely uncomfortable notion that he was from the police.
"I am in a position to do you a considerable service, Herr Lassen," he said, squinting curiously round the room.
"Who sent you to me and how did you know where to find me?"
"Your arrival in the city is scarcely a secret, and I obtained your address from your friends in the Karlstrasse. No one sent me to you, sir."
He wasn't from the police. That was a relief, and nothing else mattered. "And the service you spoke of?"
"You will not be surprised to hear that a number of people wish to find you?"
"As it's been easy for you, would it be difficult for them?"
"Not so difficult as you might desire, perhaps. I say that because you appear somewhat to resent my visit. If that is really the case, of course I will go."
"I don't care whether you go or stop; but if you've anything that you think worth telling, tell it. I'll listen. I presume you haven't come out of mere philanthropy, by the way."
"I have not. I make no pretence of the sort. If the warning I can give you is worth anything, I am not so rich as to throw money away."
"Out with it then." It was not only curiosity which prompted me to listen. It was probable that he was going to tell me some lurid incident of Lassen's past, and it was just as well to hear it. It was also quite possible that after all he might come from von Gratzen with the object of catching me tripping. His question suggested that.
"It was at Göttingen, I believe, that you made the acquaintance of Adolf Gossen?"
"I dare say, but I don't remember anything about it,"
"Ah, of course. You are the man without a memory. I have heard of your misfortune," he said, with a sly suggestive glance.
"And doubt it, eh? Well, suppose you get on with the story?"
He took the hint, and it turned out to be about the same pretty affair von Erstein had made so much of. It seemed, according to my visitor, that some one was in prison because of it; that his friends, whose names he gave, were furious; that they were looking high and low for me; and that if I remained in Berlin they would find me and wreak their vengeance in any way that came handy. He declared he knew where to find them and they were prepared to pay for the information of my whereabouts.
The thing was either a palpable plant or this fellow had come from von Erstein to try and frighten me out of the city.
"Of course you mean that if I don't pay you, you will go to them?"
"Not at all, sir," he cried, with a fine show of indignation. "I know these people to be scoundrels; they have treated me villainously; I have merely come to warn you. You can act upon it or not, of course. That is entirely a matter for you;" and to my surprise he got up without asking a mark for his news. "I have done all that I can do by coming."
"I don't know anything about the affair, as I told you, but I'm very much obliged to you;" and I took out my pocket-book as a hint.
"Pardon me, sir," he exclaimed, flourishing his hands as if the sight of banknotes was an abomination, and shaking his head vigorously. "I could not think of accepting any money after what you have said. Good afternoon;" and he was still gesturing at the shock of the idea when he left the flat.
This was so extremely unnatural for a German Jew that it prompted suspicion. He had probably meant this pecuniary shyness as a startling proof of his honesty of purpose and general integrity.
That wasn't the effect it produced, however. It rather served to confirm the previous thought that von Erstein had sent him to scare me. That the brute would do almost anything to see my back was a certainty, of course; and then an odd notion flitted across my thoughts.
Whether it would be worth while to appear to tumble into the trap; go to him in the very dickens of a funk; make him believe my one object was to fly the country, in disguise, to Holland preferably; and get him to procure the necessary permit, etc. The possibility of hoisting him with his own petard looked good; and the thought of his chagrin when he discovered that he had helped me to take Nessa out of his clutches made the scheme positively alluring.
That it could be done, there was little doubt, and equally none that he could get the necessary papers; but the price to pay for them was too stiff. To have anything to do with such a mongrel was unthinkable so long as any other course was open; so I abandoned it until every other means had been tried.
The pressing question now was the result of Nessa's interview with von Gratzen, and I set off for the Karlstrasse to hear about it. This time the door was opened by the girl Marie; so I concluded that Gretchen had either bolted or been sent about her business as the result of the previous day's affair. Marie told me no one was at home and that Rosa had gone with Nessa and Lottchen to the Thiergarten.
I soon found them; and Rosa played the part of the good fairy and kept the child with her while Nessa told me the news.
"First let me tell you the good news," she said.
"Do you mean that the other's bad then?"
"Do have a little patience. The main thing is that Rosa has induced Herr Feldmann to say where we can get the things you want. Isn't that splendid?"
"Yes, if you are able to get away with me; and that may depend on what passed to-day. Is it all right?"
"You might as well ask me a riddle in Russian. Frankly I don't know what to make of it. Of course it was to see Baron von Gratzen that I had to go to the Amtstrasse. He seemed all right, but——" and she shrugged her shoulders and frowned.
"That's just the impression he always leaves on me."
"He was awfully kind in his manner; but it was lucky you warned me to be careful, for he kept popping in some question about you just when I wasn't expecting it, and whether I gave you away I can't say. I don't think I did; but then I'm not at all sure he didn't see that I was fencing."
"What did he talk about?"
"Oh, he told me first that some one had declared I was really a spy; asked why I had stopped so long here? Didn't I want to go home? and so on. Of course that was all easy enough; but I think he was only trying to let me get over my nervousness; for, of course, I was awfully nervous; and at last he said he believed my story entirely, in fact that he knew it was the truth; that I wasn't to worry; that I need only report myself once a week; that it was the merest formality; and that probably I should never have to do it all, as he was pretty sure I should be sent home before the first day for reporting arrived."
"And was that all?"
"Rather not; only the preface; and, mind you, he hadn't said a word about you up to then, not even mentioned your name."
"What came next then?"
"He asked me to talk about England and the English, saying that he had been there a lot and knew heaps of people; and then you came into the picture."
"Did he ask about me, do you mean?"
"Are you telling the story or am I?" and she rallied me with a smile which was good to see. She was much more like the Nessa of old times, was in good spirits, and had thrown off much of the worrying load of depression. "I don't know whether you've done it, but to-day somehow I can't take things seriously."
"That's as it should be; but how did he bring me in?"
"Well, he was either acting better than I could or he was perfectly sincere. What he did was to talk about people, mentioning a lot of names and asking me whether I knew any of them, and in the most casual tone in the world out popped yours."
"Lassen?"
"Of course not; your own, Lancaster."
"Phew! That's a caution, if you like. What did you say?"
She laughed softly. "I think I was one too many for him then. You see he'd prepared the ground in a way by mentioning people I'd never heard of, so I just shook my head, then pretended to think and said I wasn't sure that my mother had not known some Lancasters. He'd been so decent, that that seemed easier than just lying outright. He was eager for more and asked me to try and remember, as he had a very particular reason for being interested in them; but that looked dangerous, so I thought it best not to remember anything else Lancastrian."
"Well?"
"Don't rush me. I could tell that I was over that bridge all right; but it was only the first. After a bit he brought up Jimmy Lamb's name, and I laughed and clapped my hands and said he was my brother-in-law. Why, what's the matter? Was that wrong?" she cried, noticing my frown.
"Perhaps not, but it was Jimmy's passport I was to use, and he's supposed to have gone down in theBurgen. It won't matter, probably."
"I'd forgotten all about that. No wonder he was interested and poured a volley of questions into me about him. But that was all safe enough, because I haven't heard a word about Jimmy since I've been here, and naturally couldn't tell him anything. One of them was whether Jimmy knew the Lancasters, by the by. And I can see why he asked it."
Unpleasantly ominous, this; since it was clear he was trying to establish the connection between me and Jimmy. "And after that?"
"Butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth. He asked me about you as Lassen; safe ground again: and wound up by thanking me for having answered his questions so frankly; declared he was quite satisfied, and then, as I told you, said he would use his influence to see that I went home."
"Anything about our going together?"
"Yes. He said it might not be well for me to travel alone and asked if there was any one who could see me to the frontier."
"You didn't suggest me?" I broke in.
"Really, Herr Lassen! Do you think every English girl is a fool? I suggested Herr Feldmann. He shook his head, murmuring something about his being unable to get away; and then came the only thing that really scared me. 'Of course you could go in the care of some of our people, but it would be better not, perhaps; so difficult to spare our folks just now;'—all that in a sort of meditative tone, and then with a change which in some way altered his very features, he fixed me with a look which seemed to pierce like red-hot gimlets into my very brain and read every thought in it, and asked me to suggest some one else. I positively shrivelled up inside, if you know what I mean; felt like a fish on the end of a fork thrust suddenly into a blazing fire. I don't know what I said or did. It must have mesmerized me, I suppose. I think I shook my head and stammered out that I didn't know of any one else; but I can't be certain. All I clearly remember is a feeling of intense relief when his eyes left mine, and I heard him say something about seeing to the matter. I never felt anything like it in my life before; and if I gave you away, it was then."
"I've had a look from him like that and can understand how it made you feel. That's why I can't place the man. Hullo, look! There come his wife and daughter with the Countess. We'd better join up. Won't do to let them think we're too thick;" and we quickened up to Rosa as the others reached the spot, and all stood chatting. Presently Lottchen drew me aside from the rest, declaring that she never saw anything of me now, and after a moment, Nita, attracted by the child's loveliness, joined us.
I said something or other which made them both laugh, and just as the others turned round and looked at us, I had the surprise of my life.
A good-looking woman was passing, holding a tot of a kid by the hand; she glanced at me, stopped dead with a look of profound astonishment, paused to stare, hands clenched and pressed to her bosom, eyes wide, mouth agape, and every feature set as rigid as stone.
"Johann!" little more than a whisper at first, and then loudly, "Johann!" and without more ado she rushed up, flung her arms round my neck, and burst into a flood of passionate sobs mingled with equally passionate terms of affection.
"Johann! Johann! Oh, my dearest! Oh, thank God I have found you at last! Oh, my long lost darling!" raved the woman ecstatically, while her child ran up and clung to my coat, calling, "Papa! Papa!"
A pleasant situation considering the circumstances and the fact that a number of other people, attracted by the woman's hysterics, began to cluster round us.
Nita and Lottchen scurried back to our group; the two elder women were looking both scandalized and disgusted; and Nessa bent over Lottchen, scarcely able to conceal her laughter. Fortunately Rosa kept her head.
Giving me first a look of scornful indignation, she said something to her mother and the whole group moved away.
The woman's outburst of hysterical passion had quieted by then, and she just let her head rest upon my shoulder, feasting her rather fine eyes upon my face with languishing rapture.
My first thought was that she was a lunatic; so I tried to unclasp her embrace. Gently at first, but then with considerable strength, for she resisted stoutly. Next I observed that for all her hysterical sobbing, her eyes were scarcely moist; a fact which put quite a different interpretation on the affair.
"We don't want a scene here," I said.
This had comparatively little effect and she tried to wrest her hands away and begin the embracing over again.
"If we have any more of this, I shall call the police," I said sharply. This did the business. After a moment she grew less demonstrative, making a great to-do in the effort to check her agitation, and allowed me to lead her away.
While we were shaking off the crowd there was time to study her and try to get a glimmer of the meaning of it all. Now that the hysterics were over, she appeared to be less emotional than perplexed. She kept her eyes on the ground, evidently thinking intently and taking no notice of the child at all, who was as unconcerned as if she didn't belong to the picture, except that once or twice she glanced up at the woman, as if wondering what to do and looking for a lead.
A thought of the truth occurred to me and made me look more searchingly than ever at the woman's side face. Two things struck me at once. She was older than I had believed; a little make-up cunningly concealed some wrinkles, and a touch of rouge on the cheek helped to account for my mistake about her age; and closer inspection revealed some lines of grease paint close to her hair.
I put her down then as a second-rate actress, and her over-acting in the embracing scene suggested corroboration. How the ordinary woman would behave on discovering her long lost lover or husband may be a question; but she certainly wouldn't shed tears which were carefully tearless out of the fear that they would spoil her make-up. It was obviously a plant.
That wasn't altogether a comforting reflection, however. My loss of memory made it impossible to expose her, for the simple reason that any story she might choose to tell could not be contradicted.
"Now I should like to know what all this means," I began when we were free from inquisitive lookers-on.
"Do you pretend you don't recognize me?" she asked, turning her big blue eyes on me with a pathetic wistfulness.
"Do you pretend that I ought to?"
"Why did you desert me? Oh, how could you, Johann?" she wailed.
"I don't even know what you mean."
"Oh, but you must; you must. You loved me so; at least you swore you did, over and over again," she cried. "Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten me. I could bear anything but that."
This suggested von Gratzen. It was just the sort of scheme which would appeal to such a wily old beggar to trap me into admission. "Who are you?" I asked.
She clapped her hands to her face and looked like starting hysterics again. "Oh, you must know. You must. You can't have forgotten me! You can't!"
"Perhaps your name will help me."
With a very overdone theatrical gesture she stopped and stared at me and looked distracted.
"I'm—Anna. Your Anna."
"MyAnna? I didn't know I had one;" and she clapped her hands to her face again, but not quickly enough to hide her expression, which looked uncommonly like a smile. "And the surname?"
"Hilden, of course," she said after a pause without looking up.
This gave the clue. It was not von Gratzen's scheme but von Erstein's. I remembered our interview; his persistent attempt to test my memory; his story of Anna Hilden; his genuine anger when I had not recollected her; and then the sudden change of manner which had been so puzzling.
He had put her up to play the part of the ruined maiden and had probably planned the melodramatic scene which had just taken place, knowing that, unless at the same time I gave myself away, I could not expose her. It was cunning, and put me in a beast of a mess. There seemed only one course—to prevail on the woman to admit the truth.
"You can see for yourself that this has taken me entirely by surprise," I said after a pause. "I had a very tough time of it a few weeks ago; the ship I was in was blown up and the explosion caused me to lose my memory entirely. What you have said may be absolutely true; although to me it seems impossible. What do you wish me to do?"
"I want my rights," she replied, after a slight pause.
"Well, we can scarcely discuss things here. Where do you live?"
"In the Kammerplatz. 268g. No, I mean 286g;" making the correction in some confusion.
Curious that she could not remember the right number; looked as if she had only just gone there for this special business. "Shall we go there?" I asked.
She found the question unnecessarily embarrassing, hesitated and glanced at the child with a frown of perplexity. "I can't go home yet. I was just taking my little darling to some friends."
She was certainly not a good actress, or she would never have implied that it was more important to take the child to some friends than to have an explanation with the false lover discovered after long years. "When then?" I asked, concluding that the child had been borrowed for the show and was to be returned with thanks at once.
"Come there in an hour," she said after thinking. "You won't escape me again, for I know where to find you now," she added with a toss of the head.
"I shall not try. Here's my address;" and I scribbled it on a card. "I'll turn up all right. I'm only too interested in what you've said and wish to know all you can tell me about it. I'll do the right thing by you, Anna;" and I held out my hand.
She hesitated a second and then shook hands, her look showing that my words had impressed her favourably and also perplexed her.
I spent the interval in the Thiergarten thinking over the whole unpleasant incident: the probable effect upon those who had witnessed it, and the line to take in the coming interview.
It would serve one good turn at any rate. Von Gratzen would hear all about it from his wife and it ought to put an end to his suspicions. If the woman I had ruined could identify me as the result of a chance meeting, he could scarcely fail to regard it as a mighty strong corroboration of the Lassen theory.
Both Rosa and Nessa would of course know that the story, even if it were true, had nothing to do with me, and what the Countess herself thought didn't amount to anything. The main point was what would happen if the woman stuck to it and how far she was prepared to go. That would probably depend upon the inducements or pressure brought to bear by von Erstein; and judging the man, pressure was the more likely.
It would be easy enough to knock the bottom out of the scheme by bringing the police into it; her nervousness at the mention of them had shown that plainly. But that wouldn't suit me. The less the police had to meddle with my affairs, the better. No doubt an inquiry agent could soon get at the truth so far as the woman herself was concerned; and if she proved obdurate, that might be the best course. But obviously the quickest and best solution would be to get the woman herself to own up; and that must be the first line of attack.
Her answer to my question what she wished me to do, suggested an idea. She wanted her "rights," as she phrased it; and clearly the straightforward course was to offer them. "Rights" meant marriage; and she was likely to feel in a deuce of a stew if I agreed to marry her. The farce of it was quite to my liking. To appear to force her into such a marriage with a man she had never seen in her life was rich, and at the same time good policy, as it would impress her with my honesty of purpose.
I kept the appointment punctually and found her rather breathless and flurried. It was a mean little flat; had evidently been hastily got ready; and the number of things still littered about the room, told that I had arrived in the middle of her efforts to get it in order.
She looked far less presentable without her hat and things. She was an untidy person, anything but clean, and made the mistake of trying to explain away the confusion and disorder in the place.
"I didn't really believe you'd come, or I'd have had the place tidier. When any one has to struggle alone for a living in these times, there isn't much chance of keeping the home right."
"Still I can see you've been doing your best."
"I always have to," she replied with a quick, half-suspicious glance.
"You have a hard struggle?"
"Hard enough."
"What do you do?"
"Anything and everything I can, of course. It's hard work."
Her hands offered no evidence of this, however. "Well, we must try to make things easier for you, Anna. Now let us talk it over."
"I'll wash my hands first and tidy up a bit," and she went into the adjoining room, where I heard her moving some furniture into place.
This gave an opportunity of scrutinizing the mean little sitting-room, and one fact was instantly apparent. There was not a single thing to suggest that a child had even set foot in it. On the floor close to the shabby sofa was a partly open leather bag; much too good and expensive to be in keeping with the rest, and a glance into it revealed a number of dressing-table fitments, also much better than a struggling working woman would be at all likely to own.
She had forgotten this in her confusion at my arrival and presently came out to fetch it, still in the untidy slovenly dress. "I won't be a minute, now," she said.
But several minutes passed before she returned, wearing now a well-fitting coat and skirt and cosmeticed much as she had been when we had met first.
"I try to keep my head above water, you see," she said, to account for her good clothes, no doubt.
I smiled approval and got to business. "First let me ask you whether you are absolutely certain I am the man you think."
"Do you think I should have made that fuss to-day if I wasn't? Why do you ask such a question?"
"Because I don't remember anything whatever of it, and to me you are an absolute stranger. Just tell me everything about it."
Her story was in its essence that which von Erstein had told me, repeated as if she had got it up much as she would have studied her part in a play. She was not very perfect in it, and there were just those verbal slips and trips which one may hear in a badly rehearsed play on the first night of production. Moreover, apart from her lines she was hopelessly muddled and had either been very badly coached about details or her memory was little better than my assumed one.
She judged by my looks that her story shocked me, and I sat a long time frowning as if lost in thought. "It seems absolutely inconceivable!" I exclaimed at length with a deep sigh. "Absolutely inconceivable that I could have treated you in this way; and only—how long ago was it?"
"You came straight to Hanover from Göttingen."
"What was I doing there?"
"I don't know? At least, you were always so close you would never tell me anything."
"You saw a great deal of me, of course?"
"Well, naturally. I wasn't going to marry a man I never saw, I suppose."
"No, no, of course not. Oh dear, to think of it all!" I put a few more questions which she could easily answer, and when she was growing more glibly at ease I asked: "And how old is the child?"
"Eh? I don't know. Oh yes, I do, of course. Pops was nine last birthday."
"Nine!" I exclaimed. I might well be astonished, for they had muddled this part of the thing hopelessly. The child I had seen in the Thiergarten wasn't a day more than six, probably younger even. "Where was she born?"
This rattled her. "What does it matter where she was born, so long as she was born somewhere," she said, flushing so vividly that it showed under her rouge. Clearly she did not know where "our child" was supposed to have been born. "What does matter is what you're going to do about it."
"There's only one thing any honourable man would think of doing, Anna. I shall make you my wife at once," I cried.
Her amazement was a sheer delight. It was so complete that she didn't know what to do or say and just stared at me open-eyed. "I didn't say I wanted that, did I?" she stammered at length.
"There's the child, Anna; and neither you nor I can afford to think of our own wishes;" and in proof of my moral duty in the circumstances, I delivered a lecture on the necessity of freeing the child from the stain of its birth.
This gave her time to pull herself together. "Are you in earnest?" she asked when I finished.
"I hold the strongest views in such cases. The best plan will be for me to arrange about the marriage at once, to-day indeed; and probably to-morrow or the next day we can be married."
"But I——" She pulled up suddenly. It looked as if she was going to protest she wouldn't marry a man she'd never seen before. "I'd like to think about it," she substituted uneasily.
"But why any need to think? You showed this afternoon how bitterly you resented my desertion and, unless you were play-acting, how much you still care for me. So why delay when I am willing? It is true that I can't pretend to care for you as I used, but it may all come back again to me. We'll hope so, at any rate."
"But you're engaged to that rich cousin of yours, aren't you?"
This was a good example of her slip-shod methods. As she knew that, she knew also where to have found me of course, so that the little melodramatic recognition scene in the Thiergarten had been a mere picturesque superfluity. I let it pass and replied gravely: "I should not allow that engagement to interfere with my duty to you, Anna."
"You must have changed a lot, then."
"I hope I have, if you're not really mistaken about my being the man you think. But I'll go and see about our wedding;" and I rose.
"Wait a bit," she cried, flustered and perplexed. "I didn't expect you to—to give in quite so—quite like this," she added, laughing nervously. "It isn't a bit like I was led—what I expected. Do you mean really and truly that you're ready to marry me straight off like this?"
With all the earnestness I could command I gave her the assurance. "I pledge you my sacred word of honour that if I've treated you as you say I'll marry you as soon as it can be done." A perfectly safe and sincere pledge.
This frightened her. The affair had taken a much more serious turn than she had expected. "You—you've taken my breath away almost," was how she put it; and she sat twisting and untwisting her fingers nervously, not in the least seeing how to meet the unexpected difficulty. "I must have time to think it over," she said at length.
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know; but it's—it's so sudden."
"There's, the child, Anna," I reminded her again.
"Oh, bother the child. I mean I'm thinking of myself." This hurriedly, as she turned to stare out of the window. "Do you know the sort of life I've been living?" she asked in a low voice without looking round.
"Whatever it is, it must be my fault, and I don't care what you've been doing. I drove you to it. There's our child, remember."
There was another long silence as she stood at the window. Her laboured breathing, the clenched hands, and spasmodic movements of her shoulders evidenced some great agitation. If it was mere acting she was a far better actress than she had yet shown herself. And the change in her looks when at last she turned to me proved her emotion to be genuine.
"You're a white man right through, and I'm only dirt compared to you," she cried tensely. "Look here, I've lied about that kid. She isn't yours, or mine either for that matter. What do you say to that?" and she flung her head back challengingly.
"Only that I know it already, her age made it impossible. But it makes no difference to the wrong I did you."
"Do you still mean you'd marry me?"
"I mean every letter of the pledge I gave you just now, child or no child," I answered in the same earnest tone.
"My God!" she exclaimed ecstatically, throwing her hands up wildly, and then bursting into tears. "And they told me you were a scoundrel!" She was quite overcome, dropped into a chair and hid her face in her hands. The tears were genuine enough, for when she looked up they had made little runlets in the rouge and powder.
"Well?" I asked presently.
"I'm not fit to be the wife of a man like you," she stammered through her sobs. "I'm dirt to you; just dirt. If more men were like you there'd be less women like me."
Had the moment come to push for her confession? It looked like it; but it seemed cowardly to take advantage of her remorse and distress produced by my own trickery.
"Go away now, please," she said after a long interval.
"But how do we stand, Anna?"
"I don't know. I can't think. I can't do anything. Only that if I'd known—— Oh, for Heaven's sake go away, or I shall say—— Oh, do go!"
"Is there anything else you would like to tell me?"
"No. Yes. I don't know. Only leave me alone now."
"Then I'll come to-morrow."
"No, not to-morrow. The next day. Give me time. I must have time," she cried wildly.
I hesitated. In her present condition it would have been easy to frighten her into admitting everything; but somehow I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I left her.