“But, Herr Geheimrat, I can’t. One of them is a first lieutenant and a close friend of the Rittmeister’s.”
“Well, what about it, Kniebusch, what about it? What’s that got to do with his bathing in my pond? I tell you to do what I say, and on your own—don’t dare to say I sent you! Otherwise you’ll hear something—no, otherwise you won’t hear anything again.”
“Yes, Herr Geheimrat.”
“And one thing more, Kniebusch. Hi, man, what are you in such a hurry for? When your boss is talking to you wait till you are dismissed. Or perhaps you’re in a hurry for your dismissal? Do you hear what I say, Kniebusch?”
“Yes, Herr Geheimrat.”
“Well, yesterday the examining magistrate phoned me from Frankfurt—Bäumer has a temperature of over 104° and is still unconscious, said to be the result of your rough treatment.”
“But I couldn’t, Herr Geheimrat …”
“Of course you could, man! You should have run, made a bandage, fetched a doctor, nurses, even the mid-wife Müller if you like—poor fellow, he’s just a simple honest poacher! If he shoots at you it’s only because you, wicked man, begrudge him a roast venison—isn’t that so? An examining magistrate can’t blame him for that, can he? He’s only a poor fellow-being, eh?”
“But, Herr Geheimrat, what am I to do?”
“Don’t do anything. I’m looking after you, Kniebusch, I’ve already told Comrade Magistrate what I think! Now go and get this thing done for me! Off with you, Kniebusch, bathing forbidden, distraint of clothes customary.…”
The Geheimrat hung up and grinned, got himself a cigar and poured himself out a brandy. After his day’s work he sat down in an armchair for a snooze.
Why did magistrate Haase write so unfavorably about Kniebusch to the court? he wondered. I don’t like that. I’ll show him where he gets off. He’s got to make reports as I like. But something’s rotten there—and what it is I’ll find out, even if it takes me a whole day!
III
“There they go,” said the people in the village, watching the two “Berlin detectives.” “What fools they must think us to believe they’re farmers!—Did you see the hands of the young one, Dad? He’s never handled a pitchfork in his life!—But yesterday he shoveled away with the rest!—Oh, that’s just eyewash! They’ve already put little Meier away. They say he was taken straight to Meienburg!—Then why are they still here?—Don’t you know who’s the next one?—The next is the Rittmeister.—The Rittmeister! You’re crazy! The next one is Forester Kniebusch.—No, it’s the Rittmeister, I tell you—they’re expecting another Putsch now, and if there are weapons buried anywhere then it’s in our district.—But the man with the egg-shaped head is pals with the Rittmeister.—That’s just their cunning, that’s what the old Geheimrat has schemed out, to hoodwink him.”
“There they go!” said Amanda Backs, and watched the two of them go. But they hadn’t seen her. “What do you think of them, Minna?”
“That I can’t say, Amanda,” said Minna cautiously. “But the big fellow knows everything about tidying-up. When he makes a bed you feel like rolling into it straight away.”
“And the young one?”
“Of course you only see the young one, Amanda,” said Black Minna with a pious roll of her eyes. “Don’t you think of your Meier anymore? After you stood up for him in the evening service, Amanda, and pointed to me with your finger. After all, the detective stole him from you.”
“Yes, thank God he did!” But Amanda sounded very gloomy. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
Minna was suddenly vexed. “What should I be doing? I’ve got to go to my kids. They’re certain to be up to some mischief now that I’m away half the day with the cleaning in the staff-house.”
“You ought to be glad you’ve got your kids. Sometimes I think it would have been better for me if I’d had one from him.”
Minna became indignant. “Lord, how can you say that, Amanda, you an unmarried girl! And you’ve already got your eye on another fellow, too. I can understand people sinning, but one’s got to repent of sins, Amanda.”
“Oh, stop your drivel,” said Amanda, angrily going off to the forest, as Minna observed with profound satisfaction.
“There they go,” said Jutta von Kuckhoff to her friend Belinde von Teschow. “Herr von Teschow speaks badly of them—but I do think the older one looks really distinguished. What sort of nobility are the Studmanns—old or new? Do you know, Belinde?”
Frau von Teschow peered eagerly out of the window after the disappearing figures. “They’re carrying bundles under their arms—yes, bathing suits. They had no time for divine service this morning, but for bathing they have time. And you say he’s distinguished, Jutta!”
“You are right, Belinde. It must be very new nobility; our ancestors certainly never bathed. I once saw an old wash-basin at the Quitzows’ in Castle Friesack—the sort of thing you nowadays put in the cage for your canary.”
“Horst-Heinz says he can revoke the lease at once; there isn’t a single farmer on the farm now!”
“I suppose he wants to have little Meier back, does he? The rings round Amanda’s eyes are getting darker and darker.”
“There she goes—the same way!”
“Who?”
“Amanda! But if anything starts again now—efficient or not—she’ll have to go.”
“And what’s this about Fräulein Kowalewski?” asked Fräulein von Kuckhoff dreamily. “Wherever there’s a carcass, the flies gather!”
“They’re said to have traveled in the same compartment,” replied Frau Belinde eagerly. “And even if she did sit on the box with the coachman afterwards, they’re said to have spoken to each other quite intimately. And, up until the day before, the Kowalewski parents didn’t know of her visit. Suddenly a telegram arrived, and—Jutta—my son-in-law was already in town when it was sent off.”
“They say she’s dressed like a cocotte. Her brassière is all lace.…”
“Brassière! Please don’t say that indecent word, Jutta. When I was young, girls like that wore drill corsets with alternate stays of whalebone and steel—that was like armor, Jutta. Armor is moral, but lace is immoral.”
“There they go,” said the Rittmeister, having coffee on the veranda with his wife and daughter. “They look good. Quite different from that monster Meier.”
“They’re going bathing,” said Frau von Prackwitz.
“They’ll be back in time for the foddering,” said the Rittmeister. “Studmann is punctuality and reliability itself.”
“Oh, Mamma!” cried Vi.
“Well,” asked Frau von Prackwitz very coldly, “do you want anything, Violet?”
“I was just thinking.… I’d also have liked to go bathing.”
“You know, Violet, I have forbidden you to go out until you tell Papa and myself who the strange man was with whom you crossed the yard at night.”
“But, Mamma,” cried Vi, almost weeping. “I’ve already told you a hundred times that it wasn’t a strange man. It was Kniebusch! Räder also told you that!”
“You are lying, and Räder is lying, too. You are not going out of the house until you’ve told me the truth, and the good Hubert can expect sudden dismissal if he goes on telling lies. It’s shameful of you both to lie to me in this way.” Frau von Prackwitz looked very angry. Her ample bosom heaved hastily. Sharp, angry looks shot from her eyes.