“Then Wenk would be coming anyhow, so that’s all right, as it happens!”
The headwaiter of Schramm’s little restaurant, recently opened in one of the residential streets and decorated throughout in most eccentric style by a modern professional, led Karstens and Wenk from the dinner-table to a box at the rear. Thence a winding stair led to a room which had no other exit and seemed to have no windows of any kind.
In the middle of the room stood a fairly large table of an oval shape, but so arranged that every occupant of an armchair was sitting in a hollowed-out niche of his own, with the leaves of the table under his elbows on both sides. The table was formed of quaint, curiously veined Kiefersfeld marble. In the middle only was there a perfectly white oval left. Around the table, behind the players’ chairs, the floor was raised and the walls furnished with full-length reclining lounges, upon which rested crushed-strawberry-coloured cushions with black designs. A large shade of polished glass attached to a brass electrolier hung low over the table and reflected the electric light bulbs which gleamed forth from silver brackets. The walls above the strawberry-coloured cushions were inlaid with the same warm marble as that on the table.
Wenk was introduced to Cara Carozza.
“I could not keep the secret, Herr von Wenk. I was obliged to tell my lady friend here. Please don’t be vexed with me!”
Wenk gave a slight bow, in which there was a trace of annoyance.
Baccarat was being played. Karstens turned to Wenk: “The young man with the fair beard is the only stranger. All the others play here regularly.”
Wenk glanced at the stranger and met his eyes. He noticed that they were fastened on him, and he immediately looked beyond and above them, but he felt that the stranger had noticed they were speaking of him. Whenever he looked at him again he found that his eyes were fixed on the table.
The stranger played a quiet, restrained game. He frequently lost. Then Wenk ceased to pay attention to him and turned to the others, whom he watched in turns. They all had their eyes fastened on the white oval, whereon the cards were being dealt. They seldom looked in any other direction. There were gentlemen in evening dress, ladies in décolletée, expensively and fashionably attired. The passion for gambling had seized and carried them all away.
“It is none of these,” said Wenk to himself, “so it can only be that young man with the sandy beard.”
He began to study him afresh, but only to find that the latter returned his gaze. Wenk then turned his attention to Cara Carozza. He saw her wholly given over to her game, sitting next to Hull, to whose money she helped herself when she lost. If she won, however, she added the winnings to her own heap. In the player on her other side Wenk thought he recognized a well-known tenor from the State Theatre, whose picture often appeared in shopwindows.
“Is that Marker?” he asked Karstens, who nodded in reply.
Wenk won a trifling sum. He played only till he had persuaded himself that there was no work for him here. Then he gave up his place to an elderly gentleman who had already been sitting behind him for some time, boring him by remarks upon his method of play. He seated himself on one of the lounges and watched the play for a short time longer. Then he took his departure, Karstens accompanying him. Hull remained with the Carozza girl.
When Wenk had descended a few steps he looked back at the table. It seemed as if the fair-bearded man with large mouse-grey eyes followed his departure eagerly, and then directed an urgent and threatening look towards Carozza, but it might have been only an illusion.
When Wenk reached the foot of the stairs, he unexpectedly found himself for a moment face to face with a lady who had already laid her hand on the balustrade to ascend. He looked right into her eyes and started back in amazement, while he inclined his head, as if doing homage, before he passed on. He wanted to say to Karstens, “I have never seen so beautiful a woman!” but that seemed to him like betraying a secret, and, consumed with desire, he bore her image with him as he made his way silently through the deserted streets. When at home, he soon fell asleep, but the two mouse-grey eyes, which were far older than the carefully arranged sandy beard, seemed to fasten on his breast as he slept. They appeared to be trying to colour the ace of hearts with his own lifeblood.
When he awoke next morning he was conscious of nothing but an intense longing to meet once more the lady he had encountered on the stairs.
III
The next night Wenk was invited to a soirée musicale in the neighbourhood of Schramm’s restaurant. A young pianist was performing modern fantasies. Wenk was bored, became fidgety and was the prey to wandering thoughts. It seemed to him as if he were neglecting some special opportunity elsewhere. He grew so uneasy that he finally slipped away, merely leaving a card of apology for his hostess.
He reached Schramm’s and was about to pass quickly by. Then it occurred to him to look up at the first floor of the villa where the new restaurant and gaming-house was established, and try to see the windows of the little room in which he had played the previous night. The ground-floor windows were large, and through their old-gold curtains a faint light gleamed, but the four windows on the first floor showed no signs of occupation. Yet he said to himself, “Behind those unlighted windows there gleams
