“Excuse me, Herr Lieutenant. I’m not for the police. I’m for you, sir.”
It was quiet in the room. Thoughtfully the Lieutenant stirred his cup while the servant stood in a watchful, yet indifferent, posture. The Lieutenant reached across to the bottle of cognac, filled the cup and took a gulp. Then he said softly: “I shall perhaps settle this business not quite as you think, Rader.”
“That will be all right, Herr Lieutenant.”
“If you think I am going to use violence on the girl …”
“The gentleman will have considered what is most efficacious.”
“Most efficacious, yes …”
There was a long silence. The Lieutenant sipped his cognac, the servant stood in the doorway.
“Rader!”
“Yes, Herr Lieutenant.”
“When does it become dark now?”
Rader went to the window and peered out into the gloomy evening drizzle. “With a cloudy sky like this—soon after six.”
“Well, you must get me a taxi for a quarter-past six, here. I must be driven to the border of Neulohe Forest. Agree on the charge beforehand.”
“Certainly, Herr Lieutenant.”
“When you leave the house and also in the streets have a look if that fat detective is spying around anywhere, the one I told you about. A plump, beardless man, pale bloated face, a peculiar glance like ice. Black overcoat with velvet collar, bowler hat … You’ll recognize him, man,” he ended impatiently.
“Certainly, Herr Lieutenant; should I see him I shall recognize him. May I go now?”
“Yes,” replied the Lieutenant, brooding. Then he spoke briskly, yet with embarrassment: “Listen, Rader, there is something else for you …”
“Yes, sir?”
“I require”—he hesitated—“I require a weapon. I have lost mine.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you manage that?”
“Certainly, Herr Lieutenant.”
“But it won’t be so easy to get hold of a pistol here today. And some ammunition, of course, Rader!”
“Of course, sir.”
“You are sure?”
“Quite sure, sir.”
“About the money …”
“I shall be glad to assist the Lieutenant.”
“I have a little. But whether it will be enough for the taxi and the pistol …”
“I will settle that, sir—I’ll be back in an hour’s time then, sir.” Hubert Rader had gone without a sound.
The Lieutenant was alone. On the wall a little Black Forest clock was ticking. In the kitchen the landlady from time to time clattered about. He lay on the sofa in his underwear; his clothes were still drying in front of the stove.
He looked at the table where the empty cup stood next to the cognac bottle, three-quarters full yet. Slowly his hand groped over the table, and was withdrawn. “Herr Lieutenant requires a clear head.” He could hear Rader’s insufferable voice, always somewhat didactic.
Why should I want a clear head for that? he thought. Tell me why, you fool!
All the same, he didn’t pour himself out any more. Drunkenness was rising like a wave in him, to fall again and rise once more, higher. He looked at the clock. Twenty-five past five. He still had a good three-quarters of an hour alone to himself, continuing to live to some extent—then he would be hastening faster and faster to his end. He fixed his eyes on the minute hand. It moved infinitely slowly; no, it was not moving at all. The decrease in the little space between the minute and the hour hands was not perceptible. Yet all too suddenly it would be a quarter past six, and the last independent moments of his life would have expired. To rekindle his wrath he tried to think about Violet von Prackwitz, but Rader’s fishlike leathery face and dead gray eyes swung upwards on a new wave of drunkenness. The fellow never opened his mouth in talking, he thought in sudden disgust; I have never even seen his teeth. It’s certain he has nothing but rotten black stumps in his jaws. That’s why he doesn’t open his mouth to talk. It’s all moldy and putrid.
The Lieutenant wanted to look at the time again but couldn’t lift his head from the sofa.
He was asleep. He was sleeping away his last independent moments, sleeping, sleeping.…
The car drove through the night. In its white headlights the sodden trunks gleamed and were dark at once, vanished before the weary tormented eyes had really perceived them. In the corner sat the Lieutenant, half recumbent, almost asleep still. A piercing headache hindered him from thinking clearly. He could not make out if it was true that in front, next to the chauffeur, the servant Rader was sitting. It seemed to him that he had not wanted this disgusting fellow to come. Then, however, it occurred to him that the servant was paying for the car, though. Let him, therefore, drive his car as much as he wished; the chief thing was that he should go back immediately.
The lieutenant was almost happy that he’d found this solution, despite his headache. All was in order and good; the fat man, too, had not caught him. From now on everything would go of itself; he would be driven right up to the place—and then it was nothing but a little click. Only a click, that was all. The simplest thing in the world, about which there was no need to trouble oneself. He had seen it many a time.…
Anxiously he felt in his pockets and on the seat. Had the servant given him the pistol or not? He had been so drowsy on coming away, he could not remember; and he felt angry at finding nothing but the bottle of cognac beside him. Look at that! Sleepy as he was, he had not forgotten that. Wet my whistle with cognac, he thought, taking a good gulp from the bottle.
The alcohol washed away his drowsiness. Like a flame the thought rose in him: I am nothing but a coward.
The flame died down. “But you will do it,” whispered intoxication. “The chief thing is that you should do it. No one will ever know that you were cowardly about it.”
“Yes, the fat detective knows it!” said his understanding.
“Fat lot I care about him!” whispered intoxication.
“Both of you leave me in peace!” grumbled the Lieutenant.
It was now light in the car, a sort of twilight rapidly becoming brighter.
What’s that now, he thought wearily. Am I not going to be left in peace at all?
But the brightness became stronger; the servant was turning round, half standing up. Was the car on fire? Rader said something to the chauffeur, a horn sounded, a horn replied. And a large car passed swiftly by. Gone! The Lieutenant was in darkness again.
Rader opened the panel in front. “That was the Rittmeister’s car,” he shouted, and there seemed to be triumph in his words.
“Good,” answered the Lieutenant indistinctly. “Good. I always told you so, Rader. The wishes of the dying are fulfilled.”
On the unrepaired country road the car was bumping terribly. “The young lady must have recovered, then,” shouted the servant.
“Hold your jaw!” he yelled, and Rader closed the panel.
He must have fallen asleep again, waking up because the car had come to a stop. Laboriously he heaved himself up; he was half off the seat. Managing to get hold of the door handle he stumbled out.
They were right in the forest, in an inconceivable stillness. No breath of wind, no drop of rain. In front, ten or twelve paces from the car, stood two men, who seemed to be examining the ground.
“Hi! You! What are you doing there?” shouted the Lieutenant, lowering his voice even as he shouted.
The servant turned, walked slowly up to him and stood a couple of paces in front. “Yes, we’re there,” he said softly. “You only need to follow the car tracks, Herr Lieutenant.”
“What car tracks?”
“Of the car, Herr Lieutenant! Of the Entente Commission’s car.”
“How can I do that in the dark?” asked the Lieutenant impatiently.
