“Gosh, you are behind the times!” Helen brightened at the prospect of yet another story. “Why, that can’t have been more than a week after you left. They kept it fairly quiet, of course, in the papers. A pal of mine on the New York Herald gave me all the dope.”
But, on this occasion, the dope wasn’t all on Helen’s side. Naturally, she didn’t know everything about van Hoorn. The temptation to fill out the gaps in her story, or, at least, to be—
186
tray my knowledge of them, was considerable. Thank goodness, I didn’t yield to it. She was no more to be trusted with news than a cat with a saucer of milk. And, indeed, I was astonished how much her resourceful colleague had found out on his own account.
The police must have been keeping Kuno under observation ever since our Swiss visit. Their patience had certainly been remarkable, because, for three whole months, he had done absolutely nothing to arouse their suspicions. Then, quite suddenly, at the beginning of April, he had got into communication with Paris. He was ready, he said, to reconsider the business they had discussed. His first letter was short and carefully vague; a week later, under pressure from van Hoorn, he wrote a much longer one, giving explicit details of what he proposed to sell. He sent it by special messenger, taking all due precautions and employing a code. Within a few hours, the police had deciphered every word.
They went round to arrest him that afternoon at his flat. Kuno was out, having tea with a friend. His manservant had just time to telephone to him a guarded warning, before the detectives took possession. Kuno seems to have lost his head completely. He did the worst thing possible: jumped into a taxi and drove straight to the Zoo Station. The plain-clothes men there recognized him at once. They’d been supplied with his description that very morning, and who could mistake Kuno? Cruelly enough, they let him buy a ticket for the next available train; it happened to be going to Frankfurt-on-the-Oder. As he went up the steps to the platform, two detectives came forward to arrest him; but he was ready for that, and bolted down again. The exits were all guarded, of course. Kuno’s pursuers Tost him in the crowd; caught sight of him again as he ran through the swing doors into the lavatory. By the time they had elbowed their way through the people, he had already locked himself into one of the closets. (“The newspapers,” said Helen, scornfully, “called it a telephone-box.”) The detectives ordered him to come out. He wouldn’t answer. Finally, they had to clear the
187
whole place and get ready to break down the door. It was then that Kuno shot himself.
“And he couldn’t even make a decent job of that,” Helen added. “Fired crooked. Nearly blew his eye out; bled like a pig. They had to take him to hospital to finish him off.”
“Poor devil.”
Helen looked at me curiously.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish, I should have said.”
“You see,” I apologetically confessed, “I knew him, slightly …”
“Well, I’m blowed! Did you? Sorry. I must say, Bill, you’re a nice little chap, but you do have some queer friends. Well, this ought to interest you, then. You knew Pregnitz was a fairy, of course?”
“I rather guessed something of the kind.”
“Well, my pal got on to the inside story of why Pregnitz went in for this treason racket at all. He needed cash quickly, you see, because he was being blackmailed. And who, do you think, was doing the blackmailing? None other than the secretary of another dear old friend of yours, Harris.”
“Norris?”
“That’s right. Well, it seems that this precious secretary … what was his name, by the way?”
“Schmidt.”
“Was it? I dare say. Just suits him… . Schmidt had got hold of a lot of letters Pregnitz had written to some youth. God alone knows how. Pretty hot stuff they must have been, if Pregnitz was prepared to risk his skin to pay for them. Shouldn’t have thought it was worth it myself. Rather face the music. But these people never have any guts… .”
“Did your friend find out what happened to Schmidt afterwards?” I asked.
“Don’t suppose so, no. Why should he? What does happen to these creatures? He’s probably abroad, somewhere, blowing the cash. He’d got quite a lot out of Pregnitz, already, it seems. As far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome to it. Who cares?”
188
“I know one person,” I said, “who might be interested.” A few days after this, I got a letter from Arthur. He was in Mexico City now, and hating it.
Let me advise you, my dear boy, with all the solemnity of which I am capable, never to set foot in this odious town. On the material plane, it is true, I manage to provide myself with most of my accustomed comforts. But the complete lack of intelligent society, at least, as I understand the term, afflicts me deeply …
Arthur didn’t say much about his business affairs; he was more guarded than of old.
“Times are very bad, but, on the whole, I can’t complain,” was his only admission. On the subject of Germany, he let himself go, however:
It makes me positively tremble with indignation to think of the workers delivered over to these men, who, whatever you may say, are nothing more or less than criminals.
And, a little farther down the page:
It is indeed tragic to see how, even in these days, a clever and unscrupulous liar can deceive millions.
In conclusion, he paid a handsome tribute to Bayer:
A man I always admired and respected. I feel proud to be able to say that I was his friend.
I next heard of Arthur in June, on a postcard from California.
I am basking here in the sunshine of Santa Monica. After Mexico, this is indeed a Paradise. I have a little venture on foot, not unconnected with the film industry. I think and hope it may turn out quite profitably. Will write again soon.
189
He did write, and sooner, no doubt, than he had originally intended. By the next mail, I got another postcard, dated a day later.
The very worst has happened. Am leaving for Costa Rica tonight. All details from there.
This time I got a short letter.
If Mexico was Purgatory, this is the Inferno itself.
My Californian idyll was rudely cut short by the appearance of Schmidt!!! The creature’s ingenuity is positively superhuman. Not only had he followed me there, but he had succeeded in finding out the exact nature of the little deal I was hoping to put through. I was entirely at his mercy. I was compelled to give him most of my hard-earned savings and depart at once.
Just imagine, he even had the insolence to suggest that I should employ him, as before!!
I don’t know yet whether I have succeeded in throwing him off my track. I hardly dare to hope.
At least, Arthur wasn’t left long in doubt. A postcard soon followed the letter.
The Monster has arrived!!! May try Peru.
Other glimpses of this queer journey reached me from time to time. Arthur had no luck in Lima. Schmidt turned up within the week. From there, the chase proceeded to Chile.
“An attempt to exterminate the reptile failed miserably,” he wrote from Valparaiso. “I succeeded only in arousing its venom.”
I suppose this is Arthur’s ornate way of saying that he had tried to get Schmidt murdered.
In Valparaiso, a truce seems, however, to have been at last declared. For the next postcard, announcing a train journey to the Argentine, indicated a new state of affairs.
190
We leave this afternoon, together, for Buenos Aires. Am too depressed to write more now.
At present, they are in Rio. Or were when I last heard. It is impossible to predict their movements. Any day Schmidt may set off for fresh hunting-grounds, dragging Arthur after him, a protesting employer-prisoner. Their new partnership won’t be so easy to dissolve as their old one. Henceforward, they are doomed to walk the Earth together. I often think about them and wonder what I should do if, by any unlucky chance, we were to meet. I am not particularly sorry for Arthur. After all, he no doubt gets his hands on a good deal of money. But he is very sorry for himself.