Meanwhile, I had my own, unpleasant task. I found Frl. Schroeder in the living-room, laying cards, as she did every morning of her life, to discover what would happen during the day. It was no use beating about the bush.
“Frl. Schroeder, Herr Morris has just had some bad news. He’ll have to leave Berlin at once. He asked me to tell you …”
I stopped, feeling horribly uncomfortable, swallowed, blurted out:
“He asked me to tell you that … he’d like to pay for his
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room for January and the whole of February as well …”
Frl. Schroeder was silent. I concluded, lamely
“Because of his having to go off at such short notice, you see …”
She didn’t look up. There was a muffled sound, and a large tear fell on to the face of a card on the table before her. I felt like crying, too.
“Perhaps …” I was cowardly. “It’ll only be for a few months. He may be coming back… .”
But Frl. Schroeder either didn’t hear or didn’t believe this. Her sobs redoubled; she did not attempt to restrain them. Perhaps Arthur’s departure was merely the last straw; once started, she had plenty to cry about. The rent and taxes in arrears, the bills she couldn’t pay, the rudeness of the coalman, her pains in the back, her boils, her poverty, her loneliness, her gradually approaching death. It was dreadful to hear her. I began wandering about the room, nervously touching the furniture, in an ecstasy of discomfort.
“Frl. Schroeder … it’s all right, really, it is … don’t … please… .”
She got over it at last. Mopping her eyes on a corner of the table-cloth, she deeply sighed. Sadly, her inflamed glance moved over the array of cards. She exclaimed, with a kind of mournful triumph:
“Well, I never! Just look at that, Herr Bradshaw. The ace of spades … upside downl I might have known something like this would happen. The cards are never wrong.”
Arthur arrived back from the travel bureau in a taxi, about an hour later. His hands were full of papers and illustrated brochures. He seemed tired and depressed.
“How did you get on?” I asked.
“Give me time, William. Give me time … I’m a little out of breath… .”
Collapsing heavily into a chair, he fanned himself with his hat. I strolled over to the window. The detective wasn’t at his usual post. Turning my head to the left, I saw him,
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however, some way farther down the street, examining the contents of the grocer’s shop.
“Is he back already?” Arthur inquired.
I nodded.
“Really? To give the devil his due, that young man will go far in his unsavoury profession… . Do you know, William, he had the effrontery to come right into the office and stand beside me at the counter? I even heard him making inquiries about a trip to the Harz.”
“Perhaps he really wanted to go there; you never know. He may be having his holidays soon.”
“Well, well … at all events, it was most upsetting … I had the greatest difficulty in arriving at the extremely grave decision I had to make.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
“I much regret to say,” Arthur regarded the buttons on his boot despondently, “that it will have to be Mexico.”
“Good God!”
“You see, dear boy, the possibilities, at such short notice, are very limited … I should have greatly preferred Rio, of course, or the Argentine. I even toyed with China. But everywhere, nowadays, there are such absurd formalities. All kinds of stupid and impertinent questions are asked. When I was young, it was very different… . An English gentleman was welcome everywhere, especially with a first-class ticket.”
“And when do you leave?”
“There’s a boat at midday tomorrow. I think I shall go to Hamburg to-day, on the evening train. It’s more comfortable, and, perhaps, on the whole, wiser; don’t you agree?”
“I daire say. Yes… . This seems a tremendous step to take, all of a sudden. Have you any friends in Mexico?”
Arthur giggled. “I have friends everywhere, William, or shall I say accomplices?”
“And what shall you do, when you arrive?”
“I shall go straight to Mexico City (a most depressing spot; although I expect it’s altered a great deal since I was
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there in nineteen-eleven). I shall then take rooms in the best hotel and await a moment of inspiration. … I don’t suppose I shall starve.”
“No, Arthur,” I laughed, “I certainly don’t see you starving!”
We brightened. We had several drinks. We became quite lively.
Frl. Schroeder was called in, for a start had to be made with Arthur’s packing. She was melancholy at first, and inclined to be reproachful, but a glass of cognac worked wonders. She had her own explanation of the reasons for Arthur’s sudden departure.
“Ah, Herr Norris, Herr Norris! You should have been more careful. A gentleman at your time of life ought to have experience enough of these things …” She winked tipsily at me, behind his back. “Why didn’t you stay faithful to your old Schroeder? She would have helped you, she knew about it all the time!”
Arthur, perplexed and vaguely embarrassed, looked questioningly to me for an explanation. I pretended complete ignorance. And now the trunks arrived, fetched down by the porter and his son from the attics at the top of the house. Frl. Schroeder exclaimed, as she packed, over the magnificence of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur himself, generous and gay, began distributing largess. The porter got a suit, the porter’s wife a bottle of sherry, their son a pair of snakeskin shoes which were much too small for him, but which he insisted he would squeeze into somehow. The piles of newspapers and periodicals were to be sent to a hospital. Arthur certainly gave things away with an air; he knew how to play the Grand Seigneur. The porter’s family went away grateful and deeply impressed. I saw that the beginnings of a legend had been created.
As for Frl. Schroeder herself, she was positively loaded with gifts. In addition to the etchings and the Japanese screen, Arthur gave her three flasks of perfume, some hair-lotion, a powder-puff, the entire contents of his wine—
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cupboard, two beautiful scarves, and, amidst much blushing, a pair of his coveted silk combinations.
“I do wish, William, you’d take something, too. Just some little trifle… .”
“All right, Arthur, thank you very much. … I tell you what, have you still got Miss Smith’s Torture Chamber? I always liked it the best of those books of yours.”
“You did? Really?” Arthur flushed with pleasure. “How charming of you to say so! You know, William, I really think I must tell you a secret. The last of my secrets. … I wrote that book myself!”
“Arthur, you didn’t!”
“I did, I assure you!” Arthur giggled, delighted. “Years ago, now… . It’s a youthful indiscretion of which I’ve since felt rather ashamed … It was printed privately in Paris. I’m told that some of the best-known collectors in Europe have copies in their libraries. It’s exceedingly rare.”
“And you never wrote anything else?”
“Never, alas. … I put my genius into my life, not into my art. That remark is not original. Never mind. By the way, since we are on this topic, do you know that I’ve never said goodbye to my dear Anni? I really think I might ask her to come here this afternoon, don’t you? After all, I’m not leaving until after tea.”
“Better not, Arthur. You’ll need all your strength for the journey.”
“Well, ha, ha! You may be right. The pain of parting would no doubt be most severe… .
After lunch, Arthur lay down to rest. I took his trunks in a taxi to the Lehrter Station and deposited them in the cloakroom. Arthur was anxious to avoid a lengthy ceremony of departure from the house. The tall detective was on duty now. He watched the loading of the taxi with interest, but made no move to follow.