He could hear steps approaching. He straightened up. A housemaid with a dressing gown over her shoulders opened the door.
“What’s the matter?” she asked softly. “What do you want?”
“I want to speak to Fräulein Marisabelle.”
“To Fräulein Marisabelle? Now? You must be mad!”
“Listen,” he said, “I must speak to her. It’s very important. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
“But I can’t wake her up now.”
“You must!”
She stood there, indecisive. She was still very young and rather pretty.
They looked at each other, and when she saw his eyes maybe she somehow realized that something special and important might have occurred between a man with such beautiful eyes and Marisabelle, which explained the urgency of the matter at this time of night.
“What’s your name then?” she finally asked.
“Sponer,” he said. “However, there’s no need to mention my name to the lady. Just say someone needs to speak to her urgently.”
“Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “You’ll wake the house up if you haven’t already done so!”
“Go and tell her,” he pleaded.
She fell silent and looked at him again, and he looked at her too.
“All right,” she finally whispered. “I’ll tell the lady.”
Then she closed the door and he heard her scurry off.
Sponer stood there, and after a few moments he heard the porter take a couple of steps down below on the staircase, obviously wanting to know whether Sponer was still there. Then it became quiet again, the porter was probably listening to what was going on above. The maid opened the door again.
“She’s not in,” she whispered.
“Who’s not in?” Sponer stammered.
“The lady.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not at home.”
“How come she’s not home?”
“She was invited out last night and she’s not back yet.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not true!” Sponer shouted dejectedly.
She furrowed her eyebrows.
“What’s not true?” she asked.
“That she’s not in! You simply don’t want to announce me.”
“So,” she said, “you don’t believe me. Of course, I can’t ask you to see for yourself. Whether or not you believe me is up to you.”
With that she closed the door. Sponer tried to put his foot in the way, but was too late. He knocked loudly on the door and shouted that he believed what she’d just told him, but he at least wanted to know when Marisabelle would return. There was no answer. He stood there fuming, and finally descended the stairs.
The porter was standing down below.
“Well?” he asked.
“They said she’s not in,” Sponer muttered.
“There, you see!” the porter said, and switched off the light on the staircase.
“What do you mean, ‘You see’?” Sponer shouted. “You yourself thought she was in! Where else would she be! Of course she’s upstairs!”
“She was invited out,” the porter said. “I saw her leave the house some time before ten o’clock. If she’s not back yet, she’ll…”
Sponer had motioned to him to stop talking.
They stood there together in the entrance, and heard the sound of a car drive up to the house; people got out, conversed in front of the house, and then bade one another goodbye. Sponer recognized Marisabelle’s voice.
A key was inserted into the lock at the top of the front gate, but was not turned since the gate was, of course, unlocked; nevertheless, the porter’s keys on the inside fell to the floor, and the gate opened.
Marisabelle and her brother entered.
She was wearing an evening dress and a fur; he was wearing a coat over a tuxedo and a black top hat.
While the porter greeted them and picked up his keys from the floor, and the young Raschitz asked him what the matter was, Marisabelle took a couple of steps and recognized Sponer.
*
She stopped dead in her tracks, and the young Raschitz looked up.
Sponer went up to Marisabelle.
She didn’t flinch, however; she merely stared at him, perfectly composed, for she probably sensed from the circumstances and the expression on his face that something quite extraordinary must have happened. He stood there in front of her, bowed, and whispered something in her ear.
At that moment the young Raschitz approached and asked her in a shrill and demanding voice what this man wanted.
Marisabelle, without looking at him, motioned him away with a movement of her head, while Sponer ignored him completely and continued speaking to her imploringly.
Marisabelle blushed.
“What on earth’s the chap going on about?” the young man shouted. “Shall I get rid of him?”
Marisabelle, as white as a sheet, turned to face him.
“Go away,” she said in a peculiarly forced voice. “I have to talk to him.”
“What does he want from you?”
“I can’t tell you. Go away!”
“Why should I?”
“You can see he wants to tell me something.”
“What did he say to you?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I won’t tolerate him annoying you like this!”
“Leave me alone!” she shouted, her words as sharp as tacks. “You’ve no right to boss me about!”
He looked at her, nonplussed.
“Leave me alone!” she repeated. “I’ve got to talk to him, don’t you understand?”
He looked at her completely flabbergasted, then raised his hands in the white doeskin gloves as if about to strike someone.
“Clear off!”
He dropped his hands, stood there for a moment, then turned, cursing, and strode furiously towards the staircase. They heard him walk up the stairs.
The porter stared at them. Marisabelle motioned to him to leave. He hastily locked the gate and withdrew into his flat.
Marisabelle looked at Sponer; her eyes were wide open and her lips were trembling.
“It’s not possible,” she finally said. “I must have misunderstood what you said.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You understood me quite correctly,” he said.
“Who’s the dead person then?” she stammered.
“An American,” he said. “His name is Jack Mortimer, a gangster, someone shot him. However, it’s irrelevant who he is and who the murderer was. The fact is, I can no longer prove it wasn’t me who killed him. There’s nothing more I can do to convince anyone I’m not guilty. They’re already looking for me. I don’t believe for one moment they’ll think I’m here, but nevertheless it could be dangerous for you that I’m here…”
She made a dismissive gesture.
“The fact is, I’m done for,” he said. “By tomorrow they’ll arrest me. All I needed to do was to go to the police and report I had a dead person in the car and didn’t know who’d shot him, and in the end they’d have had to believe me and I’d have been released. Instead, I’ve done just the opposite, and have landed myself in no end of a mess. I can see it all now. If I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t be here now. If I didn’t have blood on my hands, which I hadn’t spilt, I wouldn’t have seen you again. If I hadn’t been in a mess, I wouldn’t have been able to come here and tell you I love you.”
Then he fell on his knees, threw his arms around her, and buried his face in her lap.