locking the door behind him. “Here, or rather in Ostade, there appears to have been an accident. Fraulein Violet was brought back from Ostade very ill, and the Rittmeister—badly drunk. That’s all I know. The worst is that his wife is terribly upset and seems to fear a greater calamity, though I don’t know what.… And I’m quite alone with them. Oh, and the Commission of Control was also here and dug up an arms dump in the forest. Did you know about it?”
“I?” cried Studmann indignantly, putting down his suitcase. “I should …”
“Yes, madam,” Pagel shouted upstairs. “It’s quite all right. Herr von Studmann’s here. Shall he come up?”
“Herr von Studmann! Yes. At once. Thank God, Herr von Studmann, you’re back. I need assistance so much.… I can’t come down.”
Pagel returned to the Rittmeister’s room. His employer seemed asleep; he had managed to keep down two tablets of veronal this time. But he couldn’t be trusted. His eyes were shut, his breathing regular; but Pagel felt that there was something wrong. Something told him that in the meantime the Rittmeister had been out of bed. His face bore a sullen, malicious expression, and Pagel resolved to be on his guard. The prison officer, Marofke, had not given him a tip or two for nothing.
And all this while his ear was aware of the voices in Violet’s room. Studmann’s voice was unmistakably a trifle offended, which was not surprising. He had run around, he had negotiated, he had shown his efficiency and his success, he had brought back a heap of money, very necessary and very eagerly awaited—and there was no vehicle at the station, no one to receive him, the money was unimportant, his success was unimportant! For there has been illness in the meantime; people are occupied with other matters; accidents, for example—one that has happened and one that is to come—more important matters.… Poor Studmann. Pagel could so clearly see him standing in front of the gloomy office, carrying the heavy case which he would not set down for a moment. A good nursemaid, experiencing the eternal disappointment of all nursemaids. He had obtained the wished-for toy, but the child did not even look at it; something else had been found long ago.
In this quiet hour of the night, a bit sleepily because he’d been on his feet since half past four in the morning, young Pagel understood why Studmann, friendly, capable, and ready to help others, had remained an elderly solitary bachelor. People do not love their saviors. Once out of danger they resent that superiority.
The voices came and went in the next room. Pagel looked at his wrist-watch—nearly half-past twelve. I shouldn’t mind going to bed at all, he thought drowsily. The Rittmeister hasn’t stirred in the last fifteen minutes; he’s off at last. But I can’t leave the women there in the lurch, and Studmann won’t be staying much longer; Frau Eva’s voice sounds more and more irritated.… If only I could have a coffee at least, a good thick black coffee! And he saw himself go down to the kitchen in the house.… They’ve got an immersion heater there. He saw it that afternoon. It works fast. He would grind himself a good portion of coffee—a good few grams—put them staight in the cup, pour boiling water over the them, let it draw for three minutes, put a bit of cold in, and then drink the lot, boiling hot, coffee grounds and all. Oh! I’ll be as fresh as a fish in water!
But he had to stay up with this idiot who was certainly not asleep. Why was he keeping his hands like that under the bedclothes? Pagel, worn out, even believed it possible that the Rittmeister had got out of bed to fetch a knife. But had he really got out of bed?
Wolfgang’s sleepy mind stoutly refused to interest itself in this question; he could not withstand the vision of a coffee cup—there it was, as if real! It was steaming, the brownish silvery surface made by fine ground, strained coffee in boiling water.… How good a thing like that is against tiredness! With deep relief it occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to go downstairs at all to make coffee—Lotte would be coming. She’d make him some. Where on earth was the girl? It was half-past twelve. Well, she’d have to make him some coffee all the same.…
Pagel started. Perhaps it was a rustle of the bedclothes. Had it not seemed as if a bare foot had been thrust out of bed? No, the Rittmeister lay quite still, and the voices opposite were also still. Oh, yes, what was it Studmann had said? The Manor in darkness but full of uproar and no one at the door.… He’d not thought of it at the time, but it had remained in his mind, like a hook, to pull him suddenly out of his drowsiness. Lotte not back yet, and the Manor in darkness but full of uproar …
There would be nothing wrong, though. Old Elias was trustworthy, and the mice play when the cat’s away. All the same, he would have to jog Studmann about it; for he couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy. His experience with the Oberwachtmeister Marofke had awoken Pagel a little. He no longer ambled about the landscape among its people. He felt responsible. But for what? Responsible for his actions! For himself! No, he wouldn’t forget to jog von Studmann.
It was twenty to one when von Studmann entered the room and said somewhat abruptly: “Will you please let me out, Pagel? And give me the key to the office? You’re staying here, I suppose?”
Pagel threw a glance at his patient. “Do you think that the Rittmeister is sleeping? Fast asleep?” he whispered.
Studmann gave the Rittmeister a fleeting and very unfriendly glance. “Of course he’s asleep,” he said crossly. “Why?”
“It seems to me he’s only pretending,” Pagel whispered.
Studmann looked at Pagel very suspiciously. “Pagel, have you some understanding with Frau von Prackwitz? I don’t understand it.”
“Understanding? How?”
“Because she asked me at least a dozen times if I thought Fraulein Violet was really asleep. She had the impression the girl had been awake a long time and was only pretending.… And you ask the same thing.”
The two men looked hard at one another for a moment. Then Pagel laughed with all his youthful amiability. “Well, let’s go down, Studmann,” he said. “You are over-tired and I can imagine that you haven’t been greatly thanked for all your pains.” He put his arm through von Studmann’s. “Come along, I’ll let you out now. You really must go to bed.”
Slowly they went downstairs.
“I assure you it’s pure chance that Frau von Prackwitz and I asked you the same question. Word of honor, Studmann.… There’s a peculiar atmosphere in the house now. The daughter’s a little ill—well, daughters sometimes are ill. The father’s had a drink too much. Well, fathers often do that, too. Nothing out of the way then; but there’s an atmosphere here as if all the fates were attacking the house.”
“And do you understand that, Pagel?” Studmann stood in the hall, no longer angry but distressed. “I am enthusiastically received, but nobody worries a bit about what I’ve accomplished, and it was really difficult. I ask what’s the matter, I’m told the situation—which doesn’t strike me as alarming—I say a few calming words and am coolly rebuffed. Because I’m without understanding! Do you understand it? Do you know anything?”
“I understand nothing and I know nothing,” said Pagel, smiling. “Since it appears to reassure the lady, I am sitting up with the Rittmeister and trying not to fall asleep. That’s all.”
Studmann scrutinized him, but young Pagel’s eye was without guile. “Well, good night then, Pagel. Perhaps it will be cleared up in the morning.”
“Good night, Studmann,” Pagel replied mechanically. There was something else he had wanted to say, and he looked after the other carrying his heavy suitcase into the darkness. Then he remembered. “Herr von Studmann, one moment please!”
“Yes?” Studmann turned round.
The two men approached each other and met about ten paces from the door. “What is it?” asked Studmann somewhat peevishly.
“Yes, it just occurred to me.… Tell me, Herr von Studmann, are you very tired? Must you go to bed at once?”
“If there is anything I can do,” began Studmann, immediately ready to assist.
“I can’t help thinking about what you told me when you arrived. You remember? The Manor in darkness but full of uproar. That was what you said, wasn’t it?” Pagel paused, then added: “You know that the owners are traveling?”
“That’s right,” said the astonished Studmann. “I never thought about that.”
“It won’t be anything much,” said Pagel reassuringly. “Some little celebration of the servants. Old Elias will see to it that things don’t get too bad.… But I’d make certain, Studmann; that is, of course, if you’re not too tired.”
“Lord, not a bit,” declared Studmann, pleased at the prospect of something to do. “I’ll have to put the money in the safe first, naturally.”
