“I have said nothing,” declared the Rittmeister, who nevertheless felt flattered. “How have the villagers got hold of such an idea?”
“Oh … I don’t know whether I ought to talk about it.”
“You can with me.”
“Well, there’s this Lieutenant.… You know him too, Herr Rittmeister, the one who was so rude to you.… He’s been in the village a few times and spoken to the people.”
“Oh!” The Rittmeister was annoyed that the Lieutenant had spoken with the villagers and no doubt also with the forester, but not with him. He did not want to show this, however. “Well, I don’t mind telling you, Kniebusch, that I have just come from Berlin with this Lieutenant.”
“From Berlin!”
“You’re not very quick on the uptake, Kniebusch,” said the Rittmeister condescendingly. “You didn’t even see that this rudeness had been agreed upon because we weren’t safe from eavesdroppers.…”
“No!” The forester was overwhelmed.
“Yes, my dear Kniebusch,” declared the Rittmeister conclusively. “And since you’ll hear about it tomorrow, I may as well reveal to you that the day after there’s an old comrades’ meeting at Ostade at six in the morning.”
“That’s what I always say,” muttered the forester. “Our troubles will never come to an end.”
“But you must give me your word of honor on the spot that you won’t tell a soul.”
“Of course, Herr Rittmeister, my word of honor. How could I?”
The pair shook hands. Already the Rittmeister felt uncomfortable that he should have talked so much, especially to Kniebusch. But, after all, he had told him nothing he didn’t already know. Or not much more. Anyhow, the forester was in the plot.
Nevertheless an uncomfortable silence fell between them.
Very opportunely a young man came down the corridor, a real dandy, with a little cane and a peaked cap, the sort of fellow one immediately hoped would get three years’ military service. Tapping his cane against the peak of his cap he said: “ ‘Scuse me. Where does one leave the Church here?”
“What?” the Rittmeister almost shouted.
“Where do you leave the Church—it’s here somewhere.”
“Why do you want to leave it?” The Rittmeister was indignant at such an intention on the part of a mere whippersnapper. “And smoking, by the way, is forbidden here.”
“You’ve been lucky then, chief!” said the young fellow, sauntering off down the corridor, cigarette in mouth, quite free and easy.
“Nothing but louts nowadays!” burst out the furious Rittmeister. “Leave the Church! Smoking! That’s what they’re like.” Every moment he was growing more excited, throwing indignant glances at the notices on the walls. If they were only to threaten him and not such louts, they were good for nothing.
“I say, you!” he shouted to the usher who at that moment appeared again like a ghost in the corridor. “When are things going to start here?”
“I’ve already told you that you must wait a little,” said the usher, offended.
“But it should have started at half-past ten and now it’s just on eleven.”
“I have told you that your case will be called.”
“You can’t expect people to sit here for hours,” said the Rittmeister, more and more provoked. “My time is valuable.”
“Yes, but … I know nothing about it,” hesitated the usher, touching his cap. “They said nothing definite about it. Perhaps … Show me your summons.”
“I haven’t been summoned at all,” shouted the insulted Rittmeister. “I’ve only come along with …”
“Have you?” In his turn the usher became angry. “You haven’t been summoned but you can shout at me! Go home if you can’t wait! Things are getting pretty fine nowadays.” And, shaking his head, he shuffled down the corridor.
“I tell you what,” said the Rittmeister, seizing the forester’s arm affectionately. “As a matter of fact the man’s quite right. What’s the good of my sitting here and waiting any longer? He says himself it can be quite a good while yet.”
“But Herr Rittmeister,” implored the old man, “you won’t leave me in the lurch now! I was ever so happy to have met you, and you were going to take up the cudgels for me.…”
“Of course I was, Kniebusch,” said the Rittmeister with all the cordiality associated with a bad conscience. “It’s not my fault. I came along with you at once, and gladly.”
“Herr Rittmeister, wait a little. Perhaps it’s nearly time, and it would be so excellent if …”
“But Kniebusch!” The Rittmeister was reproachful. “You understand the reason. I’m not here in Frankfurt just for my own pleasure. I have to get the car in plenty of time. You know that!”
“But Herr Rittmeister! …”
“No, you must pull yourself together, Kniebusch,” declared the Rittmeister, releasing his arm from the forester’s hand. “Man, an old experienced non-commissioned officer like you—and afraid of a few conceited lawyers! I tell you, Kniebusch, if the case was called this very moment, I’d still go. It’s a good thing for you to face danger once more. You’ve become too soft, man.” And with this Herr von Prackwitz nodded to the forester, curtly yet not without affection, walked down the corridor and disappeared.
Kniebusch, however, sank down on his condemned bench, hid his face in his hands and thought despairingly: They’re all like that, these gentlemen. All promise and all humbug. I told him exactly what my position was, that perhaps I might even go to prison.… But no, he can’t wait to find out; he wants to buy a car. Just as if he couldn’t buy it this afternoon or tomorrow morning! For people like that you risk your good bones and a bullet. I’ll not forget it, though.
“Well, has he gone, your old broomstick?” asked a bumptious voice.
Kniebusch looked up, stupefied. Before him stood a little fellow hideous to look at, with blubber lips and protruding eyeballs behind owl-like glasses, but grandly dressed in a short fur jacket and plus-fours, golf stockings and brogues. “What are you doing here in the court, Meier?” he asked, adding enviously as he eyed the former bailiff: “Lord, Meier, how do you do it? Every time I see you, you’re looking better off, while our like hardly knows where to get the money to have his shoes soled.”
“Sure,” grinned Meier, “the old head!” And he hit his pear-shaped skull so hard with the palm of his hand that it resounded. “Money’s lying nowadays on the pavement. Do you need some, Kniebusch? I can easily help you out with a few millions or milliards.”
“Money!” groaned the forester. “It’s help I need. My case is on today. I told you about it, the one with Baumer.”
“Yes, I know all about it, old fellow!” said little Black Meier, laying his hand, glittering with rings, on Kniebusch’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. I saw it posted up yesterday in the hall: Criminal case against Kniebusch, private forester from Neulohe, Room 18.… So I thought to myself, You’ve got nothing on, why not go and stand by your old comrade? … And I should have been able to testify what an excellent employee you are.”
“You really are a decent chap, Meier,” said the forester, touched. “I should never have thought you would come to the court for my sake.”
“I don’t mind at all, Kniebusch,” said little Meier complacently. “But I’m not wanted now, of course, when you can drag along such important witnesses as Rittmeister von Prackwitz.”
“But he’s left me in the lurch, Meier,” groaned the forester. “He hadn’t got time to wait a moment, because my case didn’t come up at once. He’s made up his mind to buy a car this very hour.”
“You see, money’s lying on the pavement, Kniebusch.” Little Meier screwed up his eyes. “Even the Rittmeister has money enough for a car.”
“I don’t know whether he’s got money or not. I shouldn’t think so,” said the forester. “Or it’s possible they gave him the money in Berlin.”
“Berlin? Who?”
“Oh, those—you know—the Lieutenant—when you set fire to the pines.”
“Oh, that business!” Meier grinned contemptuously. “That’s all nonsense, Kniebusch. It’s not worth a paper mark.”
“Oh no, Meier. You’ll see, in the next few days. I can’t say anything, though.… I’ve given my word.… I’m not
