It was the back room of a public-house, dreary and discolored; and something dreary and discolored also appeared in the men there. It was revolting that he too should have to stand and wait with them. He fingered the pistol in his pocket; Richter’s first words would tell him whether those men knew something about him or not. Two or three words of the fat civilian’s reached his ear. He could not exactly make them out, but one word might have been “Meier” and the other “spy.” To be sure, there were many Meiers in the world, but the Lieutenant was convinced immediately that only one Meier could be intended. The swine had been born to make difficulties for him. Why hadn’t he let him roast in that forest fire which he had started? This was the result of a man’s good deeds! Actually it was stupid to wait any longer. Everything was plain and decided. Out and finish with it! Why let himself be insulted as well?
He considered where the lavatory might be in this place—but that would only make trouble for his comrades. He must go somewhere farther away, somewhere in the wood, in the undergrowth—no, the best place would be where he had promised her. She must not be let off that!
“Herr Lieutenant, please.”
He breathed freely again. Perhaps only a respite, but yet a little time longer to draw breath, to be himself, to have a future. Attentively he listened to Herr Richter explaining that since early that morning every communication with the Reichswehr had been broken. No one could get into the barracks, no one came out; officers were not to be seen on the streets. Telephone calls brought only evasive chatter.…
Ah, it was clear now how uncertain is all preparation. They were a handful of people, the remnants of Freicorps that had long been officially dissolved, together with a Landsturm of a few thousand men—strong if the Reichswehr joined them and, if it opposed them, a ridiculous mob. One had firmly counted on the Reichswehr. Naturally there had been nothing official; one had had the fullest comprehension of the difficulties which the comrades faced. From the debris of the army, from the ruins of revolution, a new army had to be created under the suspicious eyes of late enemies who were still hostile. Those outside were more than willing to take all the risk. The discharged officer had spoken with the one in service; the first had talked, the other had listened. “Yes” had not been said, but neither had “No.” But one had been given the feeling—if we only carry out our job, they will not be against it.
And then, out of the blue sky, a day before the event, this incomprehensible silence, utterly undeserved coldness, emphatic withdrawal, almost refusal. Herr Richter went on to represent urgently that this mystery must be cleared up at once and the shadow dissipated. One couldn’t lead people against the Reichswehr if it was to be hostile. He spoke very forcibly. The Lieutenant would surely understand what was desired?
With grave and attentive face the Lieutenant stood there. In the right places he nodded and said yes, but actually he heard nothing. Savage hatred filled him. Could so great and important a business be endangered through a little love-sick creature? Was everything to be in vain which hundreds of men had prepared for months, for which they had risked honor, life and fortune—all because a bitch like that couldn’t hold her tongue? Impossible! It couldn’t be. Oh, he should have said quite different things to her. He should have taken her by the hair and hit her love-filled face.
(But neither the Lieutenant nor his superior, now talking of treachery, arrived at the thought that a thing must indeed be rotten to be overthrown by the chatter of a fifteen-year-old girl; that it could only be an adventure without any life-giving spark of an idea; that they themselves were all trapped by the glittering and corrupt enchantments of a wicked age, and were thinking of the moment instead of the eternity beyond—even as the bank-note machines in Berlin were working only for the day and the hour.)
Herr Richter was silent. His talk at an end, he was hoping that this shady Lieutenant had understood him. But he merely looked questioningly at God’s Pencil, who therefore had to make up his mind to go further—a disgusting business for a decent person.
“I have heard,” he whispered with a cautious look at the fat civilian who still stood nearby waiting for something, “I have heard that you have the possibility of finding out a few … hmm … secrets. You are supposed to have some sort of connection.…” The disgust in his voice was so obvious that a little crimson crept into the Lieutenant’s cheeks. But he said nothing, only regarded his superior attentively. “Very well, then,” said Herr Richter impatiently, himself flushing. “Why beat about the bush? I ask you in the interests of the cause to make use of your connections, so that we can know where we stand.”
“Now?” The truth was that the Lieutenant wished to ride past the hotel, see if the lordly Horch car was still there, and then go at once to the dump. If it was as he now almost expected it to be, then back to her at once and before her eyes do what he had promised. No, he wouldn’t touch her, but she should carry with her that picture—much worse than any other—throughout her whole life. She was so impressionable, she would never get over it; day after day with that picture, starting up at night from sleep—screaming—with that picture before her. Therefore the Lieutenant hesitated. “Now?” he asked.
The dark haggard man became almost angry. “When would it be, then? Do you think we have much more time to lose? We’ve got to know what’s going to happen.”
“I don’t think,” said the Lieutenant, retaliating for his blush, “that the young lady has time for me at the moment. She’s only a housemaid and will have to clean up now. And the cook bears me a grudge.” That’s the stuff, he thought. If they need me, let them stop being so genteel, and eat my dirt.
Herr Richter, however, had become quite cold and polite. “I am convinced, Herr Lieutenant,” he said, “that you can arrange the matter. I shall therefore expect your report here—inside an hour.”
The Lieutenant bowed, and Herr Richter was on the point of dismissing him when he caught a gesture from the fat man. “Oh, yes—one or two more questions, Herr Lieutenant, in another connection, with which this gentleman is dealing.”
The fat man advanced, with a curt greeting. He had been watching the Lieutenant during the entire discussion, but now he hardly looked at him. Without circumlocution, without a trace of politeness, he asked: “Neulohe is in your district?”
“Certainly, Herr …?”
“The arms dump in the Black Dale also?”
The Lieutenant threw an irritated questioning glance at Herr Richter, who with an impatient sign ordered him to reply.
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you inspected the dump?”
“Three days ago. Tuesday.”
“Everything all right then?”
“Yes.”
“Had you set up secret marks?”
“I could see by the state of the ground that it had not been dug up since.”
“Are your people trustworthy?”
“Completely.”
“Do you think that anyone could have watched you while the arms were being buried?”
“That—no. Otherwise I would have shifted the dump at once.”
“Did anyone come in the neighborhood of the sentinels during the concealment?”
The Lieutenant was trying to consider what reply would be helpful to him. But the questions followed one another so rapidly, the observant eye was so cold, that he replied hastily, without reflection or weighing the consequences: “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Herr von Prackwitz and his daughter.”
“Did you know them?”
“Only by sight.”