Wolf Among Wolves (75 page)

“Herr Pagel, do you mind closing the window? It isn’t necessary for all Neulohe to hear what …”

“Pagel, leave the window open! You work for
me
, understand? I want to have my letter—it’s three or four weeks old.”

“Oh, you mean that letter, Prackwitz.”

“Do you mean to say you’re hiding other letters from me? You are carrying on secret intrigues with my wife, Studmann!”

At this the young and frivolous Pagel burst out laughing.

The Rittmeister stood transfixed. Young Pagel had laughed. One could have heard a pin drop in the office.

He took two long paces toward Pagel. “You laugh, Pagel? You laugh, Herr Pagel, when I’m angry?”

“I’m sorry, Herr Rittmeister. I wasn’t laughing at you, sir. Only it sounded so funny. Herr Studmann carrying on secret intrigues with your wife.”

“So—so!” An icy look, a scrutiny from head to foot. “You are dismissed, Herr Pagel. You can get Hartig to drive you to the station to catch the three o’clock train. No contradiction, please. Leave the office! I have business to attend to here.”

Somewhat pale, yet with dignity, young Pagel left the office.

Herr von Studmann, angry, leaned against the safe. He looked out of the window, his forehead wrinkled. The Rittmeister regarded him sideways. “He’s an impertinent rascal!” he growled tentatively, but Studmann did not move.

“Now please give me my letter.”

“I have already given the letter back to Herr von Teschow,” announced von Studmann coolly. “I was able to convince the Geheimrat that his demands were
unjust. He asked for the letter to be returned, so that the whole matter could be regarded as never having been raised.”

“I can believe it,” the Rittmeister said with a bitter laugh. “You let the old fox cheat you! He made a fool of himself and you give him back the proof of his blunder. Fine!”

“Negotiating with Geheimrat von Teschow was not very easy. He could still base himself legally on the confounded lease. What finally decided him was the question of his reputation, of your position as relations—”

“Position as relations! I am convinced you let yourself be hoodwinked, Studmann.”

“He seems to think a lot of his daughter and granddaughter. And how could I have been hoodwinked, since everything has been left as it was?”

“That doesn’t matter,” declared the Rittmeister obstinately. “I should have read the letter.”

“I thought I had full power to deal with it. You expressly asked me to keep all unpleasant things away from you.”

“When did I say that?”

“When we captured the field thieves.”

“Studmann, if I don’t want to be bothered by these petty thefts, it doesn’t mean that you are to hide letters from me.”

“Good. It won’t happen again.” Studmann leaned against the safe, a little reserved, but not impolite. “I have just examined the cooking arrangements in the washhouse. They seem to be all right. Amanda Backs is very efficient.”

“We’ll raise a fine stink with these convicts! I ought never to have agreed to it. But when you get everyone nagging you! I would ten times have preferred to take the Berlin people; then I wouldn’t have been obliged to turn my harvesters’ barracks into a jail. What it’s all cost! And now this impertinence from that Berlin fellow. Here, read that!”

He handed the letter to Studmann, who read it without moving a muscle, returned it and said: “That sort of thing was to be expected.”

“Was to be expected?” the Rittmeister almost screamed. “You think it’s all right, do you? The fellow demands seven hundred gold marks for wretches whom I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole! And you think it’s all right! Look here, Studmann—”

“The items are all there: ten gold marks agent’s fee per man makes six hundred marks, sixty hours of lost time at one mark, other expenses forty marks …”

“But you saw them, Studmann; they weren’t laborers. Seven hundred gold marks for a botanist’s tin and a babe in arms! No, you must write a strong letter to the fellow, Studmann!”

“Of course. What would you like me to write?”

“You know that best yourself.”

“Shall I reject his demands?”

“Of course!”

“Completely?”

“Absolutely! I won’t pay the fellow a penny!”

“Very good.”

“You think that’s right, don’t you?” asked the Rittmeister suspiciously.

“Right? Not at all, Prackwitz. You are bound to lose the case.”

“Lose the case … But, Studmann, they weren’t men—agricultural laborers.”

“One moment, Prackwitz …”

“No, listen, Studmann …”

“Well.”

And Rittmeister von Prackwitz was very angry with his friend von Studmann when the latter finally convinced him that they must try and come to an agreement. “It’ll cost money,” he sighed.

“Unfortunately I shall have to ask you for some more money today.” Studmann bent over an account book in which he hastily scribbled figures, endless figures with very many noughts.

“What do you mean—money? I haven’t anything worth mentioning. The bills can wait.”

“Since you’ve dismissed young Pagel,” said Herr von Studmann, apparently very busy with his figures, “you’ll have to pay your gambling debt. I have just reckoned it out. According to yesterday’s dollar rate it will be ninety-seven milliards two hundred million marks. Roughly one hundred milliards.”

“A hundred milliards!” exclaimed the Rittmeister breathlessly. “A hundred milliards! And you say off-handedly: ‘Prackwitz, I shall have to ask you for some money’ … Look here, Studmann, old man, I’ve got a feeling that you are angry with me somehow.”

“Me angry with you? Just now it looked as if you were angry with me.”

The Rittmeister paid no heed. “As if you were purposely creating difficulties for me!”

“Me—create difficulties for you?”

“But, Studmann, think! Where am I to get the money from? First there are these crazy expenses for the reconstruction of the harvesters’ barracks, then this Berlin fellow with seven hundred gold marks whom you think I shall have to pay something, and now Pagel.… My dear Studmann, I’m not made of money! I haven’t got a machine for printing bank notes, I haven’t got a mint,
I can’t sweat money out of my ribs—yet you come along with these exorbitant demands. I don’t understand you.”

“Prackwitz,” said Studmann eagerly, “Prackwitz, sit down at once in this chair at the desk. There—comfortable? Good! Wait a moment. You’ll soon see something. I must just take a look at Pagel’s room.”

“But what’s the idea?” The Rittmeister was completely bewildered.

Studmann had disappeared into Pagel’s room and could be heard rummaging around. What was wrong with him? A serious business talk, and he started this nonsense!

“No, sit where you are,” cried Studmann, hurrying back. “Now you’ll see something.… What’s this?”

Somewhat foolishly the Rittmeister said: “A shaving mirror. Probably Pagel’s. But what in Heaven’s name—”

“Wait, Prackwitz! Whom do you see in the mirror?”

“Why, myself.” Like all men, he stroked his chin and listened to the soft scraping of the stubble. Then he shifted his tie. “But …”

“Who is this ‘me’? Who are you?”

“Now, look here, Studmann …”

“Since you don’t seem to know, Prackwitz, I’ll tell you. The man looking at you in the mirror is the most unbusinesslike, the most childlike, the most inexperienced man I have ever met in my life.”

“I beg you!” said the Rittmeister with injured dignity. “I certainly don’t want to underestimate your services, Studmann, but I managed Neulohe successfully even before you came here.”

“Hark at him!” said Studmann energetically. “In order to avoid hurting your feelings—for if I wasn’t your real friend, Prackwitz, I would pack up and go this very minute—let’s call the gentleman in question Herr Mirror. Herr Mirror goes to Berlin to engage men. He finds his way to a gambling den. Against the advice of his friend, he gambles. When he has been cleaned out he borrows about two thousand gold marks from a young man and loses that, too. The young man becomes Herr Mirror’s employee. He is very decent, he never says a word about the money, although he probably needs money very badly, for his cigarettes get worse every day, Prackwitz. Then Herr Mirror kicks the young man out and complains at having to pay him.”

“But he laughed at me, Studmann! Take your damn mirror away.”

“Herr Mirror,” continued Studmann pitilessly, keeping the mirror in front of the Rittmeister’s face despite his attempts to avoid it, “Herr Mirror engages men in Berlin. He expressly tells the agent: ‘Doesn’t matter what they look like, doesn’t matter what they know’! But when Herr Mirror sees the men
he gets a shock, and rightly. But instead of trying to come to some settlement with the agent, Herr Mirror avoids the dispute, flies from the enemy, afraid of an open combat—”

“Studmann!”

“And then blames the whole world, with the exception of himself, because he has to pay.”

“I’m not blaming you, Studmann. I’m only asking you: Where am I to get the money from?”

“But these are trifles,” said Studmann, laying down the mirror. “The important thing, the unpleasant thing, comes now.”

“Good Lord, Studmann. No, not now, please. I’ve had enough irritation for one morning. Besides, the men will be here at any moment.”

“The men can …” said Herr von Studmann violently. “You’ve got to listen now, Prackwitz. It’s no use your trying to get out of it; you can’t run around in the world like a blind chicken.” He went to the window. “Oh, Frau von Prackwitz, could you come in for a moment?”

Frau von Prackwitz looked doubtfully at Vi, then at Studmann. “Is it so important?”

“My wife isn’t needed here,” protested the Rittmeister. “She doesn’t understand a thing about business.”

“She understands more than you,” Studmann whispered back. “Pagel! Look after the young Fräulein for a bit. Fine. Come along, Frau von Prackwitz.”

A little reluctantly, Frau von Prackwitz stepped toward the office. From the threshold she looked back at the two young people.

“Where would the young Fräulein like to go?” asked Pagel.

“Oh, just up and down in front of the windows.”

Frau von Prackwitz entered the office.

III

“Would you perhaps like to see the huge cooking arrangements in the Manor?” asked Pagel. “There’s terrific activity there now.”

“I’ve got to go there with Mamma afterwards. Who is doing the cooking?”

“Fräulein Backs and Fräulein Kowalewski.”

“I can understand Amanda doing it. But I should have thought Sophie considered herself a cut above cooking for convicts!”

“Everyone likes to earn a little money nowadays.”

“You don’t seem to, if you run around here smoking during working hours,” snapped Violet.

“Does my cigarette disturb you?” asked Pagel, taking it out of his mouth.

“Not at all. I like smoking myself. When the people in the office have forgotten us, we can sneak away into the park for a bit. Then you can give me one.”

“We can go straight away. Or do you think your mother considers me too dangerous to be allowed to walk in the park with you?”

“You dangerous!” Vi laughed. “No, but, you see, I’m supposed to be confined to my room.”

“You are allowed to go only with your Mamma, then?”

“How clever you are!” she cried mockingly. “For three weeks the whole district has been talking about my being confined to my room, and now you’ve noticed it, too.”

But her irritation made no impression on him. He smiled cheerfully. “May one inquire why you are confined to your room? Was it for something very bad?”

“Don’t be indiscreet!” she said very pertly. “A gentleman is never indiscreet.”

“I suppose I shall never be a gentleman, Fräulein,” confessed Pagel sadly, feeling his breast pocket with a secret smile. “But if you think the people in the office are talking loud enough, we might steal into the park and smoke a cigarette.”

“Wait.” She listened. Studmann’s voice could be heard, calm but very emphatic. Then the Rittmeister was plaintively protesting against something—and now Frau von Prackwitz was saying a great deal, very determined, very clear. “Mamma’s off, let’s go!”

They walked along the broad path between the lawns into the park.

“They can’t see us now. Now you can give me a cigarette.… Heavens, this is a wonderful brand you smoke. How much do they cost?”

“Some millions, I can’t remember; it changes every day. Anyway I get them from a friend, a certain Herr von Zecke who lives in Haidar-Pascha. Do you know where Haidar-Pascha is?”

“How should I know? I’m not training to be a teacher of kids!”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry.… Haidar-Pascha is on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus.”

“Heavens, Herr Pagel, stop talking such rubbish! Why do you keep grinning like that? Whenever I look at you, you’re grinning.”

“It’s a war injury, Fräulein. Injury of the nervus sympathicus in its central canal. You know, just as shell-shock cases shake, so I grin.”

“Are you trying to pull my leg?” she cried indignantly. “I won’t have it.”

“But, Fräulein, word of honor, it’s a war injury. When I cry it looks as if I were laughing tears—it has got me into the most unpleasant situations.”

“One doesn’t know where one is with you,” she declared, dissatisfied. “Men like you are simply horrible.”

“That makes me harmless; that’s an advantage, Fräulein.”

“Yes, I don’t doubt it!” she said scornfully. “I’d really like to know how you would go about it if …”

“Go about what? Go on, say it! Or are you afraid?”

“Afraid of you? Don’t be ridiculous! I was wondering how you’d look if you wanted to give a girl a kiss.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” confessed Pagel miserably. “To tell you the truth, Fräulein, I’ve thought about it thousands of times, but I’m so shy, and then …”

“What!” Vi gave him a superior look. “You’ve never yet given a girl a kiss?”

“I’ve intended to hundreds of times, Fräulein, word of honor! But at the decisive moment my courage …”

“How old are you?”

“Nearly twenty-four.”

“And you’ve never yet kissed a girl?”

“I’m telling you, Fräulein, my shyness …”

“Coward!” she cried with the deepest contempt. And for a while they walked in silence down the avenue of tall lime trees which led to the pond.