In the deepest agitation he made for the unfortunate curtains—and the medicine-chest of deal, painted brown, entered his field of vision.
“Hallo! There you are at last.” Black Meier grinned contentedly. The key was in the lock, the little door had learned to obey and opened at the first attempt, and there in two crowded compartments were the whole doings. In front stood a big brownish bottle, with something written on the label. But who could read a chemist’s scrawl? No, it was printed—it amounted to the same thing.
Meier took the bottle, withdrew the stopper and smelled the contents.
He took another sniff. He stood there inhaling the ether vapor, while his body started to tremble. Supernatural clarity spread over his brain, he was conscious of an understanding and insight such as he had never known before. He sniffed and sniffed—it was bliss.
His face became haggard, his nose pointed, wrinkles appeared in his skin. His body shuddered. Yet he whispered: “I understand everything—everything! The world … bliss … clarity … blue.”
The ether bottle dropped out of his trembling hand, fell to the floor and broke. Still intoxicated, he stared at it. Then he went quickly to the switch, turned off the light, entered his room again, switched off the light there, groped his way to the bed and threw himself down.
He lay without stirring, with closed eyes, surrendering completely to the bright visions within his brain. The shapes became dimmer, gray mist drifted over them. Darkness approached from the boundaries of consciousness, grew blacker and blacker. Black Meier slept.
IV
“You ought to know who’s got the key,” the Lieutenant stormed.
Three persons stood before the dark staff-house. Räder had tried the handle, but the door was locked.
“Herr Meier has the key, of course,” he said.
“There must be another,” insisted the Lieutenant. “Fräulein, don’t you, by any chance, know who has the second key?” Although the situation between them left no room for doubt, he continued to address Violet as Fräulein.
“The second key will be with father,” said Vi.
“And where does he keep it?”
“In Berlin.” In reply to an angry gesture, she added: “Papa is in Berlin, Fritz!”
“He won’t have dragged the key of this hovel all the way to Berlin! I must go to the meeting.”
“If we go afterwards …”
“And let him run off with the letter in the meantime? Is he in there?”
“I don’t know,” said the offended Hubert. “I’ve nothing to do with the bailiff, Herr Lieutenant.”
The Lieutenant felt he could die of impatience and fury. These damned love affairs were always hampering men. He had absolutely no use for women at this juncture. And how helpless Vi stood there; not a scrap different from the hopelessly stupid servant! He had to do everything himself. What was she going to suggest now?
“There’s a window open upstairs, Fritz,” she said.
He looked up. Yes, a window was open in the gable.
“Splendid, Fräulein. Now we shall pay the young man a visit. Here, you, I’ll lift you up on the chestnut tree. From that branch you can easily climb into the room.”
But Räder stepped back. “If Fräulein will excuse me, I’d rather go home.”
The Lieutenant cursed. “Don’t be so silly, man. Fräulein is present.”
“I’ve given you my willing assistance, Fräulein,” said the servant with invincible determination and taking no notice of the Lieutenant, “and I hope you won’t forget it. But I must really go home to bed.”
“Oh, Hubert,” begged Vi, “do me a favor. When you’ve opened the front door you can go home at once. It’ll only take a moment.”
“It is, so to speak, a punishable offense, Fräulein,” the servant protested respectfully. “And just now two women were standing by the dungheap. I would much rather go to bed.”
“Oh, let the fool go, Violet!” cried the Lieutenant furiously. “He’s messing his trousers like a whole company down with dysentery. Clear off, my lad, and don’t spy about in the bushes.”
“Thank you very much, Fräulein,” said Räder, imperturbably polite. “I wish you good night.” And with a steady stride (without acknowledging the Lieutenant) he vanished round the corner.
“What a boor,” the Lieutenant grumbled. “Really, Violet, I’d like to be for a Sunday what he fancies himself to be the whole week long. Now help me on to the tree. If the trunk weren’t so beastly slippery with the damp I could manage it alone. But what that idiot can do you can do also.”
While Vi was helping her Lieutenant on to the tree, Räder, softly whistling to himself, his hands in his jacket pockets, went across the farmyard. He had eyes in the back of his head and thus saw in the shadow of the stable the person who wanted to pass him.
“Good evening, Fräulein Backs,” he saluted very politely. “Still about so late?”
“You, too, are still about, Herr Räder!” the girl retorted, but stopped.
“Yes. But I’m going home to bed. When do you get up in the morning?”
Amanda Backs paid no attention to this question. “Where did Fräulein go to with the gentleman, Herr Räder?” she asked inquisitively.
“Everything in its turn,” said the unyouthful Räder, pedantically. “I asked you, Fräulein Backs, when you get up in the morning.”
If Amanda had not been a true woman she would have replied, “At five,” and could then have required the answer to her own question. However, she said: “It can’t interest you, Herr Räder, when I get up,” and thereby prolonged the argument.
But in the end, after considerable dispute, Herr Räder learned that Amanda’s time for getting up was governed by the sun, because chickens wake at sunrise, and he heard that in July the sun rose about four o’clock and that Amanda had to be outside by five at the latest.
This he thought was rather early; he himself got up at six and sometimes later.
“Yes, you,” said Amanda rather contemptuously, for after all, a man who tidied rooms was, for that very reason, contemptible. And now he was expressing the opinion that she ought to be in bed. “Where was Fräulein going so late with the gentleman?” she asked sharply. “She’s only fifteen and she ought to have been in bed long ago.”
“I don’t know when Fräulein goes to bed,” said Räder. “There’s probably no time fixed.”
Amanda did not despair. “And, anyway, who was the gentleman, Herr Räder? I don’t know him at all.”
Räder, however, was of the opinion that he had done his duty. Fräulein must be, by now, inside the house with her Lieutenant. He couldn’t do any more to protect them from spies.
“No, you probably don’t know the gentleman,” he confirmed. “We have so many gentlemen visitors. Good night!” Before Amanda could put a fresh question he had gone on.
Angrily she stared after him, trying to make up her mind to go home. In spite of young Räder’s being so clever, she was beginning to feel that he had been pulling the wool over her eyes, and as Herr Räder had a good opinion of himself and rarely talked with her, he wouldn’t have fooled her without some end in view. There must be something behind it.
Thoughtfully Amanda walked on. She left the farmyard, turned the corner of the dark staff-house and stopped before her young man’s windows.
A short time ago those windows were open and had then been closed. A short time ago, when she looked for a moment across the farmyard, a light was burning in his room. Now there was no light. Amanda told herself that it was quite in order; her Hans was sleeping. It was better to let a drunken man sleep; and sleep, in view of her argument with Frau Hartig, would be better for herself, too. There was really no sense in stirring up any more strife—she was not like that. Frau Hartig wouldn’t take up again with her Hans—of that Amanda was convinced.