within an hour.… Any place which is quiet and safe. Why let yourself be snapped at here by that old clodhopper? Get away!”
“Yes,” said Pagel thoughtfully.
“Take that fat wench in the hall, if only to have a woman’s help during the journey and not give people something else to say about you.”
“Good.”
“Don’t speak kindly or strictly to the girl. Say only what is essential. ‘Sit down. Eat. Go to sleep.’ She does everything like a lamb. Not a trace of her own will. And don’t call her Violet—otherwise she’ll be frightened. He never called her anything but whore.”
“And he?” asked Pagel in a low voice.
“He? Who? Who do you mean?” said the fat man and clapped Pagel on the shoulder so that he swayed. “That’s all,” said he more calmly. “Pack your things; you can go in the taxi outside. I will come as far as Frankfurt. And one other thing, young man; have you money?”
“Yes.” It was some time since Pagel had admitted that willingly.
“My expenses have been eighty-two marks. Give me them back now.… Thanks. I won’t give you a receipt; I haven’t a name which I care to sign any longer. But if the mother asks, say I had to dress her out—she was pretty tattered—and then a little money for fares and traveling expenses. And now off with you! Hurry up that fat girl—in half an hour I shall stop with the taxi between here and the wood. We don’t want people to notice.”
“But can’t I see Fraulein Violet now?”
“Young fellow, don’t be in such a hurry. That won’t be a very cheerful meeting. It’ll come soon enough. March! I give you half an hour.”
And he went.
VIII
Of the thirty minutes granted Pagel, eight were lost in letting Amanda Backs know what had happened and in convincing her that for Violet’s sake she would have to abandon her poultry to a completely uncertain future. Going to the staff-house took another five minutes. And since the same time must be allowed to get to the car, only twelve minutes remained for the packing. Thus there could only be two suitcases, one for Amanda, one for himself. Wolfgang Pagel, who had arrived in Neulohe with a monster of a trunk, went away with almost nothing. Should he leave behind a few explanatory lines for the Geheimrat? He very much disliked to think that next morning he would be torn to pieces by every tongue as an unfaithful employee and miserable coward. He consulted Amanda.
“Write? Why do you want to write to him? He won’t believe a word when he sees the mess here. No, you leave that to madam to settle later.… But, Herr Pagel,” she said tearfully, “for you to ask me to leave my best things lying around, and then some wench like Black Minna comes and turns everything over and very likely puts my clean linen on her filthy body …”
“Oh, don’t worry yourself about your things, Amanda,” said Pagel abstractedly. “One can always buy some more.”
“Oh!” Amanda was indignant. “Perhaps you can go on buying new clothes, but not me! And how pleased one is to have an extra pair of silk stockings in the cupboard for special occasions, you have absolutely no idea! And let me tell you that if the old grumbler doesn’t pay to have my things sent on at once, then I shall come here myself and tell him off.”
“Amanda, only three minutes more!”
“Oh, only three minutes more! And you tell me that so casually! What about my wages? Yes, Herr Pagel, you’ve thought of everyone, but these last months you’ve completely forgotten that I too would like to get something for my work. We don’t suffer from the same disease, however, Herr Pagel. If you’re silly in money matters there’s no need for me to be, and I want my wages for the last three months, with a receipt, all done properly—and you enter it in your cash book too! I like everything done fairly.”
“Oh, dear, Amanda,” sighed Pagel. But he did what she wanted.
Then for the last time he locked his office door and threw the key into the small tin letter box. And now they hurried away, suitcases in their hands, through the pitch-dark night, though in the village there were lights in almost all the houses—it must be pretty close to nine o’clock now. Neulohe was tensely awaiting the Geheimrat’s arrival.
“Careful!” said Pagel and pulled Amanda into a dark corner.
Someone came down Dorfstrasse and they stood anxiously in the dark like real criminals, and only walked on after hearing a front door close behind the nocturnal wanderer. Then they passed by the Villa—dark standing in the darkness.
The taxi was standing with dimmed lights by the forest. “Eight minutes late!” growled the fat man. “If I’d had any idea what to do with her I should have cleared off! … You, girl, sit beside her, and let me tell you you’ll get something on the snout if you start jabbering.”
With this he opened the door. The moment had come—and nothing happened. Something dark stirred in the corner, but the fat man merely said: “Don’t move. Go on sleeping.” And the darkness did not stir again. “Off!” he shouted to the driver. “As fast as you can to Frankfurt. If we’re there by eleven the young man will give you a tip.”
The car shot into the night. The Villa glided by again. Then came the lights of the apartment blocks. Pagel strained to make out the office building, but it wasn’t recognizable in the dark. Now came the castle.…
“That’s a light,” cried Amanda, excited. “Black Minna is waiting for me. How she’s going to set things right alone with the Geheimrat”—“Schnabel,” said the fat man, but it didn’t sound nasty.
“You may smoke without worry, young man. It won’t disturb her. I’m going to smoke, too.”
Not far from the local town they came very near to having an accident, almost running into a coach. That, however, was because the coachman Hartig had given the horses the rein while he kept his head turned round to his employer, telling him something of the lively events which had taken place at home.
“That was the Geheimrat,” explained Pagel as the raging abuse of coachman and master died away behind them.
“Well, well,” said the fat man, pondering, “I wouldn’t like to be that man’s bed tonight!”
After the Kreisstadt they entered Staatstrasse. After the bumps and stops and starts of the minor roads, the car went easily and ever faster over the smooth metal road—farther and farther. Troubled, Pagel thought what an odd crew they were—each completely for himself. He was wondering what he was to do with the girl, that night.…
The fat man spoke. “You will hardly get to Berlin before two. Have you decided where you will take her? To the mother?”
The dark form in the corner did not stir.
“I don’t know,” Pagel whispered. “The mother’s in a hotel. Ought I to go there in the middle of the night with a—an invalid? Or to my mother? It will be upsetting enough for her as it is, my blowing in without warning.”
The fat man said nothing.
“I also thought of a sanatorium. I have an old acquaintance who is employed in one. But tonight I should never get so far.”
“Sanatoriums cost a lot of money. And money’s scarce with you people.”
“Well, where shall I take her?”
“To madam,” said Amanda. “To her mother.”
“Yes,” said the fat man. “What you said about hotels and midnight is complete nonsense. She’s the mother after all. And even if she is clapped out and has acted like a slattern, she is a mother, and now she won’t be a slattern.”
“Good,” said Pagel. But he began to think once more what answers he should give to all Frau von Prackwitz’s questions, because he knew absolutely nothing, and the fat man would certainly not give him any more information.
The detective tapped on the glass in front, on which the street lamps of Frankfurt shone. “I’m getting out here,” he said. “Listen, driver. The young man here will pay all the fare. You get eighty pfennigs a kilometer—a lot, young man, but that includes the return empty. When we started your meter was at 43,750. Make a note of that, lad.”
