“Pleased-to-meet-you-please-take-a-seat,” he said with the absent-minded unreal politeness of a man whose profession it is to make the acquaintance of a stream of new people. “One moment, please. Where did we get to, Fraulein? Do you smoke? Then please help yourself.”
The telephone rang.
“Vogel speaking—Yes, his doctor? What’s his name? What? Please spell it. What’s his name? Schrock? Medical Superintendent Schrock? When will he be coming? In five minutes? All right, bring him to me at once. Yes, that will be all right, I’ll have time. I’ve only to dictate something and a short interview.” He looked vaguely at the Rittmeister across the telephone. “Say in three minutes. All right. Under no circumstances is he to be taken to No. 37, but brought straight to me. Thanks.” The receiver was replaced. “Where did we get to, Fraulein?”
The young secretary muttered something and the managing director went on with his dictating.
You can only spare me three minutes, thought the Rittmeister angrily. You wait, you’ll be mistaken. I’ll show you.… But he heard a name, started and listened intently.
The director was dictating quickly and mechanically. “We very much regret that Herr von Studmann, whose personal and professional qualities we have learned to appreciate during his eighteen months’ service in our Berlin organization …”
He paused for breath.
“One moment,” cried the Rittmeister and rose.
“One moment,” murmured the director. “I’ll be finished immediately. Where did we get to, Fraulein?”
“No, Fraulein,” protested the Rittmeister. “Excuse me. If I understand you rightly you are dictating a testimonial for Herr von Studmann. Herr von Studmann is a friend of mine.”
“Splendid,” said the director calmly. “Then you’ll take care of him. We were in a fix.”
“Herr von Studmann is lying on a worn-out sofa in an ironing room,” complained the Rittmeister. “There’s not a soul to look after him.”
“Very regrettable,” admitted the director. “A mistake which I must ask you to excuse owing to the momentary confusion created by the occurrence. Fraulein, telephone that Herr von Studmann is to be taken to his room without attracting any attention. Without attracting any attention, Fraulein, please. Without attracting any attention!”
“You want to sack Herr von Studmann,” cried the Rittmeister indignantly, pointing to the notebook. “You can’t condemn a man without hearing his defense.”
The managing director spoke without any show of feeling. “Herr von Studmann will be taken at once to his room.”
“You can’t dismiss him straight away,” cried von Prackwitz.
“We’re not dismissing him,” contradicted the other. Von Prackwitz had the impression that this gray giant could not be touched by any emotion, any entreaty, any human feeling. “We’re granting Herr von Studmann an extended holiday.”
“Herr von Studmann doesn’t need a holiday,” the Rittmeister assured him, intimidated by this unassailable man.
“Herr von Studmann does need a holiday. His nervous system has gone to pieces.”
“You judge without hearing him,” the Rittmeister declared with less conviction.
“In the room occupied by Reichsfreiherr Baron von Bergen,” said the managing director as monotonously as if he were reading from a statement, “we found nineteen champagne bottles, of which fifteen were empty. Four cognac bottles—empty. Two hotel pages—completely intoxicated. Two adult male employees—also completely intoxicated. An insufficiently clad chambermaid—dead drunk. A charwoman in our temporary employ—dead drunk. The guest, Herr Baron von Bergen, quite sober but with a black eye and almost unconscious as the result of several brutal blows on the head. Doubtless you know how we discovered your friend Herr von Studmann.”
Abashed, Rittmeister von Prackwitz bowed his head.
“On the one hand,” said the managing director a little more cordially, “your loyalty to your friend does you honor. On the other hand, I would ask—does a cultured man with a sound nervous system share in such a bacchanalia?”
“But there must have been some reason for it,” von Prackwitz cried despairingly. “Otherwise Herr von Studmann would never …”
“Can you think of any reason which would have made you take part in such an orgy, Herr von …?”
“Prackwitz,” prompted the Rittmeister.
“Herr von Prackwitz. You will understand that we cannot any longer employ in our organization a man so compromised, if for no other reason than the bad example to our staff.”
There was a curt, important knock. The door flew open and in stormed a little bowlegged old man with a tall forehead, shining blue eyes and a faded beard, which no doubt had once been fiery. He was followed slowly by a thickset man whose jacket fitted so tightly across his shoulders that he looked like a prize-fighter.
“Have you still got him?” croaked the fiery old man. “Where is he? For God’s sake don’t let him get away. Turke, see about it! Make haste! Don’t let him escape. Run! I’ve been chasing this boy all over Berlin for the last twenty-four hours. I don’t believe there’s a haunt in this wretched town into which I haven’t stuck my nose, damn it!”
He took hold of the above-mentioned nose and looked breathlessly at the dumbfounded people round him. The thick-set man in the tight jacket, presumably Herr Turke, stood behind.
Probably because his profession had accustomed him to the most extraordinary examples of the human species, the managing director was the first to emerge from stupefaction.
“Vogel,” he introduced himself. “I presume I’m speaking with Dr. Schrock?”
“No, I’m speaking with you,” shouted the old man, letting go his nose. The transition from calmness to rage was so sudden that all—except the imperturbable Herr Turke—were startled. In that bowlegged body a fiery temperament must be concealed. “I’ve been asking you for the last three minutes whether that fellow’s still here.”
“If you mean Reichsfreiherr Baron von Bergen,” began the managing director, “I know he’s in Room 37.”
“Turke,” screamed Dr. Schrock, “did you hear that? Room 37! Go and fetch the young rotter, alive or dead! Look out—you know how tricky he is. Don’t forget he locked your colleague in his room!”
The thick-set one nodded. “He won’t get away with it this time. He couldn’t have done such a thing to me, sir.” Leisurely he departed.
“An excellent male nurse,” muttered Dr. Schrock. “A man without a trace of sentimentality.” Suddenly his anxiety returned. “He can’t have got away by any chance?”
“No, no,” the managing director reassured him. “He can’t get away. Things have happened, unfortunately.” He gave a glance at the Rittmeister. “I’ll report to you as soon as I’ve dealt with this gentleman.”
With a sigh of relief Dr. Schrock sank into a chair, and mopped his forehead. “He can’t get away then, thank God. Something’s happened. Wherever that fellow goes something happens.” He gave a sigh of resignation. “Police? Public prosecutor?”
“No, no,” the managing director assured him. “The gentleman is sure to apologize.” He glanced with annoyance at the Rittmeister. “We’ll make good any damage. One of our employees unfortunately so far forgot himself as to strike the Baron.”
The old man leaped out of his chair. “Where is he? Who is it?” He pointed to the Rittmeister. “Did you?”
“He apparently threw a champagne bottle at his head,” wailed the managing director.
“Splendid,” cried the old man. “A champagne bottle! Magnificent! Not you? Your friend? Let me meet him. I must thank him. It isn’t possible? Why isn’t it possible?”
“Your charge seems to have made my friend—and half a dozen other people—mysteriously drunk.”
“There you are,” said Dr. Schrock. “The usual dirty business.” He sat down resigned. “I’ll arrange everything, nobody shall suffer. You, my dear managing director, seem to have been dazzled by the title of Reichsfreiherr and so on. Let me tell you this Reichsfreiherr is the most irresponsible, pampered, vulgar, sadistic little beast in the world. And a coward at that.”
“Dr. Schrock!” implored the managing director.
“That’s the truth! He imagines that because he’s been put under restraint as a result of his extravagance, and was acquitted in some scandal because of paragraph fifty-one, he can do what he likes. He’s lazy and without respect, without a trace of human feeling.” Dr. Schrock flared up. “The fellow ought to be whipped morning and
