“What did you tell them?”
“I sent them on.”
“Did both go forthwith?”
“Yes.”
“They asked for no explanation of what was taking place on their land?”
“Herr von Prackwitz is a former officer.”
“And his daughter?”
The Lieutenant was silent. This is like the police, he thought. Only criminals are questioned in this manner. Is there a spy in our section then? I heard something of that kind once.…
“And the daughter?” persisted the fat man.
“Said nothing.”
“You weren’t otherwise acquainted with her?”
“Only by sight.”
That look, that damned penetrating look! If only he had an idea what the fellow really knew! But, like this, one was groping in the dark completely. A single reply might have exposed him as a liar. And then … And then? Nothing more!
“You are certain that neither of the pair spied on your dump later?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Why?”
“I should have seen by the ground.”
For the first time Herr Richter joined in. “I think we can be certain of Rittmeister von Prackwitz and his daughter. As a matter of fact they are now in town. I saw them go into The Golden Hat.”
“We could question them,” said the fat man thoughtfully, not removing his ice-cold glance from the Lieutenant.
“Certainly, question them! I’ll come with you at once. Come along, we’ll go,” almost shouted the Lieutenant. “What’s up? Am I a traitor? Have I blabbed? Come with me, you, Herr Policeman! Yes, I’ve just come from The Golden Hat; I was sitting there at a table with the Rittmeister and his daughter; I have—” He broke off, looking at his tormentor with hatred.
“Yes, what have you?” asked the fat man, quite unmoved by this outburst.
“I beg you, gentlemen,” cried God’s Pencil imploringly. “Don’t misunderstand the situation, Herr Lieutenant. There is no desire to offend you, but we have reason to believe that an arms dump has been betrayed. A car from the Entente Commission has been seen there. As yet we don’t know which dump is in question; we are inquiring of all the gentlemen to whom one has been entrusted. There is always the possibility that this is the reason for the peculiar behavior of our comrades opposite.”
The Lieutenant drew a deep breath. “Inquire, then,” he said to the other; and yet he felt that even that breath had been seen.
“You were speaking of The Golden Hat,” said the fat man impassively. “You said ‘I have’ and stopped.”
“Is that really necessary?” exclaimed Herr Richter in despair.
“I had some port with the Rittmeister, perhaps I was going to say that. I don’t remember now. Why don’t we go there?” he cried again, this time not desperately but in defiance, carrying on that game with death which had already been decided, however, as he well knew. “I’ll be pleased to go. It doesn’t matter to me. You can question Herr von Prackwitz in my presence.”
“And his daughter,” said the fat man.
“And his daughter,” repeated the Lieutenant, but in a low voice.
There was a silence, oppressive and lengthy.
What do they want, he thought in despair. Do they want to arrest me? They can’t do that. I am not a traitor; I have not lost my honor yet.
The fat man, without any embarrassment, whispered in Herr Richter’s ear, on whose face was seen once more, but intensified, an expression of disgust. He appeared to be in disagreement, to be rejecting something. Suddenly the Lieutenant remembered a former comrade from whom the colonel had torn the epaulettes in front of the regiment. But I don’t wear epaulettes, he thought forlornly; he can’t do that to me.
He looked across the room—it was ten paces to the door and no one stood in the way. Hesitatingly he took a step in that direction.
“A moment,” commanded the fat man roughly. His ice-cold eye saw everything, even when it was turned away.
“I answer for the dump with my honor,” cried the Lieutenant, beginning to tremble. The two men turned their faces to him. “And with my life,” he added, not so firmly.
It seemed as if the fat man made a slight negative gesture with his head, but Herr Richter said briskly: “Good. Good. Nobody mistrusts you, Herr Lieutenant.” The fat man was silent. No muscle of his face moved, but it nevertheless said: “I mistrust you.” I don’t want to be judged by you, thought the Lieutenant, not your way.
“May I go now?” asked the Lieutenant.
Herr Richter looked at the fat man, who said: “A couple of questions more, Herr Lieutenant.”
Hasn’t the fellow any shame? thought the young man in despair. I wish to God I was on the street. But he did not move and replied: “By all means”—as if it were of no consequence to him.
And it started again. “You know a farm bailiff, Meier from Neulohe?”
“Slightly. He was proposed. I turned him down.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t like him. I thought him unreliable.”
“Why?”
“I can’t remember. That was my impression. I think he had a lot of affairs with women.”
“Oh, affairs with women … You thought he was unreliable because of affairs with women?” The unbending cold glance rested on the Lieutenant.
“Yes.”
“Could this Meier have observed the concealment of the arms?”
“Absolutely impossible!” declared the Lieutenant quickly. “He had been gone from Neulohe a long time then.”
“Oh! Gone away? Why had he gone?”
“I really don’t know. One would have to ask Herr von Prackwitz.”
“Do you think there is anyone in Neulohe who is still in touch with this Meier?”
“I have no idea at all. Perhaps one of his girls.”
“You don’t know them?”
“I beg you!” said the Lieutenant heavily.
“It might be possible, don’t you think … that you know the name of one or another?”
“No.”
“So you can form no conjecture how this Meier might have heard of the arms dump?”
“But he can’t know anything about it!” shouted the Lieutenant, bewildered. “It’s weeks since he left Neulohe.”
“And who does know about it?”
Silence again. The Lieutenant shrugged his shoulders furiously.
“Well, it has been stated,” said Herr Richter placatingly, “that this Meier was sitting in the car of the Control Commission this morning. But it’s not certain that it was he.”
For the first time the fat man betrayed annoyance, and glanced at the too-talkative God’s Pencil with irritation. The other, however, made an end. “We’ll let that be enough of questioning now. It doesn’t seem to me that much has come out of it. You know your instructions, Lieutenant. I shall expect you back in a hour’s time, then. Perhaps you can learn what we haven’t found out here.” He made a sign of dismissal; the Lieutenant gave a slight bow and went to the door.
I am going to the door, he thought, remarkably relieved. Yet he was trembling lest the fat man, that terrible person, should say a word and detain him again.
But no word was spoken behind him; the uncomfortable chilliness in his back vanished, as if distance weakened the icy power of that glance. He saluted his comrades right and left, and by a great effort of will stopped at the door to light a cigarette. Then he seized the handle, opened and closed the door, crossed the taproom—and at last stood outside on the open street.
He felt as if he had been restored to freedom after a long excruciating imprisonment.
VI
Standing there he knew that never again would he return to Herr Richter in that room, would never make the awaited report, nor say comrade to comrade again. Honor lost, all lost! Yes, honor, which belonged to him in common with the other officers, had been lost. He had lied like a coward to escape the judgment of his comrades. But not because he feared death—he had already awarded himself death—but because he wanted to die in his own manner, so that she shouldn’t forget him.