An excellent young fellow. Almost smiling, Frau von Prackwitz left the telephone. Before she went up, she ordered another coffee. Yes, please, in her room. And now back to it. But, just as last time, she was overcome with a feeling of anxiety on the stairs. Her heart beat faster. What had happened to Vi? She ran in such a way that she could feel her skirts on her knees.
But then back in her room, unchanged, Vi was in a deep sleep.
The anxiety declined and was replaced by dark desperation, and she thought suddenly: it’s like coming back to a dead person. And again she began the agonized wait.
Eva didn’t yet know how good it can be to come back to a dead person.
VIII
“What does this mean?” shouted the indignant Lieutenant. “You’ve been following me, I suppose? You want to arrest me?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, man,” said the other calmly. “How can I arrest you? We’re illegal.”
“Am I only a man now, not an officer anymore?” asked the Lieutenant sarcastically. “Well, what do you want with me?”
“Like to know, for example, how you have succeeded here.”
“I shall report on that to Herr Richter. As ordered.”
“I merely thought you might possibly forget it. That’s why I came to meet you.”
“Why should I forget? In my duty I have never forgotten anything.”
“I merely thought so,” said the fat man in apology, “because we have now been informed which arms dump has been discovered.” He stood still—but only because the Lieutenant had come to a stop—and directed his cold ruthless glance at him, saying very softly: “Yes, you know about it, my friend. You knew about it in there with Herr Richter. It’s yours.”
“I didn’t know.” The Lieutenant nearly shouted.
“Quietly, quietly, my friend,” said the fat man, laying his hand on the other’s shoulder, in such a way that the Lieutenant noticed he was as strong as an ox. “The question now is whether you will tell me who’s blabbed. Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Either you know him or you know her, and we’d very much like to know, too. For the future, you understand?”
“I know nothing about it,” said the Lieutenant obstinately.
“Rubbish. The former bailiff, Meier from Neulohe, was sitting in the Entente Commission’s car, and he showed them the dump—we know that now, too. Don’t make so much fuss, man. You’re not telling me for my own profit but for your former comrades, so that they shan’t get caught out again.”
The Lieutenant shivered to hear the other speaking of his “former comrades,” but he took the bull by the horns and declared defiantly: “I have said that I am answerable for the dump with my life. If it’s really done for, I shall do what I said.”
“My dear chap,” smiled the fat man, laying his hand once again on the shoulder—gently, yet the Lieutenant trembled—“my dear chap, don’t flatter yourself. You are finished, one way or the other. You’ve made a mess of things, you’ve lied. No, my friend, you’re done for.” His frozen glance rested on the Lieutenant, from whose thin white lips no word came forth.
“No,” went on the fat man, drawing away his hand. “It’s not a question of you anymore; it’s a question of the others. They’re the ones we want to know about.”
“You know already,” said the Lieutenant heavily. “You say little Meier was in the car—then you know the traitor.”
“We’ve got to find out who was the link between you and the traitor.”
“I’m no traitor!” shouted the Lieutenant.
“Did I say so?” The fat man spoke imperturbably. “Do you think I should have let you leave Richter’s room if you were a traitor? Do you think I’d be here with you now if you were a traitor? No, you’re only a windbag, and some sort of honor’s still in you. Although it must be a peculiar sort of honor. Because you swore on it that the dump was safe, and knew all the time it was found out.”
“I didn’t know,” cried the Lieutenant in despair.
“You’re cowardly and stupid; you shouldn’t think so much about yourself, Herr. It’s not at all important if you live. Now show some guts and tell me everything you know.”
The Lieutenant appeared to reflect. All he said, however, was: “Wait a minute. I’ll just go in here.” And he entered the small public-house before which they happened to be standing. But the fat man did not wait behind; he followed, to listen. “Landlord,” said the Lieutenant, “here is your trench jacket again. I shan’t need it anymore. Give me back my rags.”
“But there was no hurry, Herr Lieutenant. Herr Lieutenant can’t wear the dirty jacket. Wait at least till my wife has brushed it a bit.”
“Give me back the old rag,” persisted the Lieutenant. And while he was changing, he whispered: “No, I wouldn’t let my boy put it on tomorrow.”
The landlord’s eyes looked stupid in their astonishment.
“Good-by and thank you, landlord,” said the Lieutenant, leaving the public-house.
“Acting as usual,” criticized the fat man. “The jacket wouldn’t have been so important, anyway. In your lifetime you’ll have spoiled more than a jacket. But to be noble in his own eyes, yes, everyone likes that. I never met a murderer who said he had murdered for money. They all had some noble excuse.…”
“Listen, you!” shouted the Lieutenant. “If you’re going to follow me, shut your jaw. Or—”
“Or what?” The other gripped the Lieutenant’s arm. And the pressure, seeming to crush the muscles, increased till the veins were almost bursting, and the Lieutenant had to grind his teeth together so as not to scream. “I know you’ve got a pistol in your trouser pocket. Well, try and get it out, now.”
No, the Lieutenant would not even try. That terrible grip crushed even the instinct of combat which had always been his.
The fat man released his arm. “Besides, I’m not following you, but taking you,” he said imperturbably.
“And where are you taking me?”
“To The Golden Hat. I accept your proposal. We’ll ask Herr von Prackwitz and his daughter about the dump. Especially his daughter.”
“No.” The Lieutenant stopped.
“Why not? You yourself proposed it, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not going to stand like a prisoner—and before those people.”
“Whom you know only by sight.” The fat man laughed. “Are you excited, young man, at the prospect of going with me to Fräulein von Prackwitz?”
“Fräulein von Prackwitz can—” shouted the Lieutenant.
“Correct. Exactly what I thought, Lieutenant. You have a little private animosity toward the Fräulein. I wonder why?”
“The Fräulein means nothing to me.”
“Why, even now when you are being careful you can’t speak of her without your face twitching. Well, Lieutenant, what is it to be? Golden Hat or private confession?”
“Golden Hat,” replied the Lieutenant firmly. The Prackwitzes must have been gone a long time by now; how could they still be sitting there, two or three hours after that scene! No, she would have fled; she had her reputation to consider. And even if they hadn’t fled, he wouldn’t let himself be conducted into their presence by this fat detective. He’d find some opportunity to escape, he’d not let himself be deprived of all that remained to him—his deliberate revenge on her. Execution should not be done on him, but by him on her.
Human beings, before they depart this earth, want to know that they have not been wiped from the great slate of life without leaving some trace. The Lieutenant had no children, he had nothing to bequeath, no farewell letter to write. He would be as extinguished as if he had never walked the earth. Honor and ambition, self-respect and manliness, had fallen away from him while still among the living. But … Oh, stay a while, you are so lovely! Still so lovely! There was that white suggestive face, which you were never able to love. Now you can hate it. Behind the forehead is a brain in which you will be registered for as long as it thinks. In that bosom beats a heart which will become fearful at the thought of you, thirty years from now, when nothing more remains of you on this planet. A small eternity for the dead man in one who still wanders in the light; traces of the past in the surviving.