Divorced lady, – the innocent party, of course; without means – supposedly – compelled to seek position. – Quiet household; honest and reliable – Hm, we’ll see –
More likely: “Lena comes to look
With fishing rod and hook”
as the old poem has it. So beware! I have to laugh when I think of the dreadful dangers that might threaten an old bachelor like me! Anyway, she’s not called “Lena” but Johanna Fromm. On the other hand, this ex-doctor’s wife is only twenty-three years old. We’ll have to be on our guard on all fronts and make sure that the safe stronghold of bachelordom is well-defended.
Let’s hope at least she’s a good cook!
I don’t think there will be any work done on John Roger’s legacy today. First I must sort out the events and impressions of yesterday evening.
It seems to me that keeping a diary must be another characteristic I have inherited along with the Dee blood and the Dee coat of arms. If things go on like this I will have to start keeping a similar record of my own adventures. At the same time I feel the urge more strongly than ever to penetrate the long forgotten mysteries of John Dee’s life, for I feel the key must lie hidden somewhere amongst them – the key not only to the forces and fates that determined his life, but also, oddly enough, to the understanding of the labyrinth I plunged into when I started to investigate the life of my adventuresome ancestor. All other thoughts and desires are pushed aside in my feverish impatience to open the next volume of his diaries or, even more, to force open the silver Tula-ware box sitting there on my desk. – – – My imagination is running riot after the overexcitement of the past night. The only way to calm it down and bring it under control is to set down what happened in a neat and orderly fashion. So:
Yesterday evening – on the dot of six – I was waiting for the arrival of the train by which, according to the telegram, my friend, Dr. Gärtner, was to arrive. I took up a perfect position at the barrier so that no-one could leave the platform without my seeing them.
The express arrived on time and I checked every passenger; my friend Gärtner was not among them. I waited until the last of the travellers had passed the ticket control; I waited until the train had been shunted to another line. Somewhat disappointed, I turned to leave the station.
Then I recalled that another train coming from the same direction, though not an international one, was due in a few minutes. I turned back, took up my position again and waited for that train.
In vain! His old punctuality and reliability must be one of the things, I thought irritably, that has changed with the years, and not for the better. Annoyed, I left the station to make my way home, expecting perhaps to find a telegram cancelling the visit already there.
I had hung around at the ticket barrier for almost an hour and it was getting on for seven and dusk already when, aimlessly wandering down a side alley that was not even on my route home, I ran into Lipotin. It was such a sudden surprise to meet the old antiques dealer that I stopped and responded to his greeting with the rather foolish question:
“What on earth are you doing here?”
Lipotin looked at me in astonishment – my bewilderment must have been obvious to him – and his sarcastic smile, that I found so irritating, immediately spread across his face. He gave the street a quizzical look and said:
“What I am doing here? May I respectfully enquire what is special about this street? Its one advantage is that it takes me in an almost straight north-to-south line from my coffee house to my flat. And, as I am sure you are aware, a straight line is the shortest distance between two points; – – but, if you will permit me to mention it, you seem to be taking a roundabout route; I can’t imagine what would bring you to this alley, unless you are walking in your sleep!” And Lipotin gave a loud laugh which contrasted with the threat that seemed to lie behind his words. I must have given him a rather blank, disconcerted stare, as I replied:
“Sleepwalking – quite right. I – I was on my way home.”
“Isn’t it remarkable how easy it is for a dreamer to get lost in his native city! If you want to get home, my dear sir, you should go back and turn off left down that street there – – – but, if you permit, I will accompany you a few blocks.”
In irritation I shook my head to clear it of the foolish trance I was in and said, a little shamefacedly, “Indeed, Lipotin, it does seem that I have been sleeping on my feet. Thank you for waking me up. But do allow me to accompany you.” Lipotin seemed pleased and we walked to his quarters together. On the way he told me – without prompting! – that Princess Shotokalungin had been asking after me recently – I had obviously made a great impression on her; I could congratulate myself on a flattering conquest. I told Lipotin rather emphatically that I was no “conqueror” and had no intention of – but Lipotin raised his hands in mock horror and laughed; adding lightly, but not without a clear hint of mockery, “By the way, she didn’t even mention the famous spearhead. That is the way she is. Obstinate one day, indifferent the next. The female prerogative, is it not, my dear sir.”
I must say that I felt a certain amount of relief at this information. Only a caprice, after all!
When, therefore, Lipotin suggested
