No sooner had I moved into Barbara's Building and was preparing to begin
my salaried duties than I received news which sent me off post haste
to Berlin. And just as it was not I but Anastasius Papadopoulos who
discovered Captain Vauvenarde, so, in this case, it was Dale who
discovered Lola.
He burst in upon me one day, flourishing a large visiting-card, which he
flung down on the table before my eyes.
“Do you recognise that?”
It was the familiar professional card of the unhappy Anastasius.
“Yes.”
“Do you see the last line?”
I read “London Agents: Messrs. Conto and Blag, 172 Maiden Lane, W.C.” I
looked up. “Well?” I asked.
“It has done the trick,” said he triumphantly. “What fools we were not
to have thought of it before. I was rooting out a drawer of papers and
came across the card. You remember he handed us one all round the
first day we met him. I put it away--I'm rather a methodical devil with
papers, as you know. When I found it, I danced a hornpipe all round the
room and went straight off to Conto and Blag. I made certain she would
work through them, as they were accustomed to shop the cats, and I found
I was right. They knew all about her. Wouldn't give her address, but
told me that she was appearing this week at the Winter Garten at Berlin.
Why that pudding-headed quagga, Bevan, at the Embassy, hasn't kept his
eyes open for me, as he promised,” he went on a while later, “I don't
know! I can understand Eugen Pattenhausen, the owl-eyed coot who
runs the International Aid Society, not doing a hand's turn to aid
anybody--but Bevan! For Heaven's sake, while you're there call at the
Embassy and kick him.”
“You forget, my dear boy,” said I, with a laugh, for his news had
made me light-hearted, “you forget that I have entered upon a life
of self-denial, and one of the luxuries I must deny myself is that of
kicking attaches.”
“I've a good mind to go with you and do it myself. But it'll keep. Do
you know, it's rather quaint, isn't it?” he said, after a pause, as if
struck by a luminous idea--“It's rather quaint that it should be I who
am playing the little tin god on wheels for you two, and saying 'Bless
you, my children.'”
“I thought the humour of the situation couldn't fail to strike you at
last.”
“Yes,” said he, knitting his brows into an air of dark reflection “it is
funny. Devilish funny!”
I dismissed him with grateful words, and in a flutter of excitement went
in search of Campion, whom I was lucky to find in the building.
“I'm sorry to ask for leave of absence,” said I, “before I've actually
taken up my appointment; but I must do so. I am summoned at once to
Berlin on important business.”
Campion gave willing consent. “How long will you be away?”
“That depends,” said I, with a smile which I meant to be enigmatic, but
assuredly must have been fatuous, “upon my powers of persuasion.”
I had bright thoughts of going to Berlin and back in a meteoric flash,
bringing Lola with me on my return journey, to marry her out of hand
as soon as we reached London. Cats and Winter Gartens concerned me but
little, and of trifles like contracts I took no account.
“If you're there any time,” said Campion, tugging thoughtfully at his
black beard, “you might look into what the Germans are doing with regard
to Female Rescue Work. You might pick up a practical tip or two for use
down here.”
What a thing it is to be a man of one idea! I gave him an evasive answer
and rushed away to make the necessary preparations for my journey. I was
absurdly, boyishly happy. No doubt as to my success crossed my mind.
It was to be my final and triumphant adventure. Unless the High Powers
stove a hole in the steamer or sent another railway train to collide
with mine, the non-attainment of my object seemed impossible. I had but
to go, to be seen, to conquer.
I arrived safely in Berlin at half-past seven in the evening, and drove
to a modest hotel in the Kaiserstrasse, where I had engaged a room. My
first inquiry was for a letter from Lola. To my disappointment nothing
awaited me. I had telegraphed to her at the Winter Garten the day
before, and I had written as well. A horrible surmise began to dance
before me. Suppose Messrs. Conto and Blag had given Dale erroneous
information! I grew sick and faint at the thought. What laughter there
would be in Olympus over my fool journey! In great agitation I clamoured
for a programme of the Winter Garten entertainment. The hotel clerk put
it into my trembling hands. There was no mention of Madame Lola Brandt,
but to my unspeakable comfort I saw the announcement:
“Professorin Anastasius Papadopoulos und ihre wunderbaren Katzen.”
Lola was working the cats under the little man's name. That was why
she had baffled the inquiries instituted by Dale and myself and had not
received my telegram. I scribbled a hasty note in which I told her of
my arrival, my love, and my impatience; that I proposed to witness the
performance that evening, and to meet her immediately afterwards at the
stage-door. This, addressed to the Professorin Anastasius Papadopoulos,
I despatched by special messenger to the Winter Garten. After a hasty
toilet and a more hurried meal, I went out, and, too impatient to walk,
I hailed a droschky, and drove through the wide, cheery streets of
Berlin. It was a balmy June evening. The pavements were thronged.
Through the vast open fronts of the cafes one saw agglutinated masses
of people just cleft here and there by white-jacketed waiters darting
to and fro with high-poised trays of beer and coffee. Save these and the
folks in theatres all Berlin was in the streets, taking the air. A sense
of gaiety pervaded the place, organised and recognised, as though it
were as much part of a Berliner's duty to himself, the Fatherland, and
the Almighty to be gay when the labours of the day are over as to be
serious during business hours. He goes through it with a grave face and
enjoys himself prodigiously. Your Latin when he fills the street with
jest and laughter obeys the ebullience of his temperament; your Teuton
always seems to be conscientiously obeying a book of regulations.
I soon arrived at the Winter Garten and secured a stall near the stage.
The vast building was packed with a smoking and perspiring multitude.
In shape it was like a long tunnel or a long, narrow railway station, an
impression intensified by a monotonous barrel roof. This was, however,
painted blue and decorated with myriads of golden stars. Along one side
ran a gallery where those who liked to watch the performance and eat a
six-course dinner at the same time could do so in elaborate comfort. In
the centre of the opposite side was the stage, and below it, grouped in
a semi-circle, the orchestra. Beneath the starry roof hung long wisps of
smoke clouds.
The performance had only just begun and Lola's turn was seventh on the
list. I reflected that greater deliberation in my movements would have
suited the maturity of my years, besides enabling me to eat a more
digestible dinner. I had come with the unreasoning impatience of a boy,
fully conscious that I was too early, yet desperately anxious not to be
too late. I laughed at myself indulgently and patted the boy in me
on the head. Meanwhile, I gave myself up with mild interest to the
entertainment provided. It was the same as that at any music-hall,
winter garden, or variety theatre the world over. The same brawny
gentlemen in tights made human pyramids out of themselves and played
football with the little boys and minced with their aggravating steps
down to the footlights; the same red-nosed clown tried to emulate his
dashing companion on the horizontal bars, pulling himself up, to the
eternal delight of the audience, by the seat of his baggy breeches, and
hanging his hat on the smooth steel upright; the same massive lady with
the deep chest sang sentimental ballads; the same China-man produced
warrens of rabbits and flocks of pigeons from impossible receptacles;
the same half-dozen scantily clad damsels sang the same inane chorus in
the same flat baby voices and danced the same old dance. Mankind in the
bulk is very young; it is very easily amused and, like a child, clamours
for the oft-repeated tale.
The curtain went down on the last turn before Lola's. I felt a curious
suspense, and half wished that I had not come to see the performance.
I shrank from finding her a million miles away from me, a new, remote
creature, impersonal as those who had already appeared on the stage.
Mingled with this was a fear lest she might not please this vast
audience. Failure, I felt, would be as humiliating to me as to her.
Agatha, I remembered, confessed to the same feeling with regard to
myself when I made my first speech in the House of Commons. But then
I had an incontrovertible array of facts and arguments, drawn up by an
infallible secretary and welded into cunning verbiage by myself, which
I learned off by heart. And the House, as I knew it would, had been
half asleep. I couldn't fail. But Lola had to please three thousand
wide-awake Berlin citizens, who had paid their money for entertainment,
with no other equipment than her own personality and the tricks of a set
of wretched irresponsible cats.
The orchestra struck up the act music. The curtains parted, and revealed
the brightly polished miniature gymnasium I had seen at Anastasius's
cattery; the row of pussies at the back, each on a velvet stand, some
white, some tabby, some long-furred, some short-furred, all sitting with
their forepaws doubled demurely under their chests, wagging their tails
comically, and blinking with feline indifference at the footlights; a
cage in a corner in which I descried the ferocious wild tomcat;
and, busily putting the last touches to the guy ropes, the pupil and
assistant Quast, neatly attired in a close fitting bottle-green uniform
with brass buttons. Almost immediately Lola appeared, in a shimmering
gold evening gown, and with a necklet of barbaric gold round her neck.
I had never seen her so magnificently, so commandingly beautiful. I
was conscious of a ripple of admiration running through the huge
assembly--and it was a queer sensation, half pride, half angry jealousy.
My immediate neighbors were emphatic in their praise. Applause greeted
her. She smiled acknowledgments and, flicking the little toy whip which
she carried in her hand, she began the act. First of all, the cats
jumped from their stands, right-turned like a military line, and walked
in procession round the stage. At a halt and a signal each pussy put its
front paws on its front neighbour and the march began again. Then Lola
did something with voice and whip, and each cat dropped on its paws, and
as if by magic there appeared a space between every animal.
At a further word the last cat jumped over the one in front and over the
one in front of that and so on until, having cleared the first cat,
it leaped on to its stand where it began to lick itself placidly.
Meanwhile, the penultimate cat had begun the same evolution, and then
the ante-penultimate cat, until all the cats had cleared the front one
and had taken their positions on their stands. The last cat, left alone,
looked round, yawned in the face of the audience, and, turning tail,
regained its stand with the air of unutterable boredom. The audience,
delighted, applauded vehemently. I raised my hands as I clapped them,
trying vainly and foolishly to catch Lola's eye.
At a tap of her whip a white angora and a sleek tabby jumped from
the stands and took up their positions one at each end of a miniature
tight-rope. Lola stuck a tiny Japanese umbrella in the collar of each
and sent them forth on their perilous journey. When they met in the
middle, they spat and caterwauled and argued spitefully. The audience
shrieked. Then by a miracle the cats cleared each other and pursued
their sedate and cautious ways to their respective ends of the rope. The
next act was a team of a dozen rats drawing a tiled chariot driven by
a stolid coal-black cat with green, expressionless eyes, down an aisle
formed by the other cats who sat in solemn contemplation on their tails.
There was no doubt of Lola's success. The tricks were as marvellous
in themselves as their execution was flawless. During the applause I
noticed her eagerly scanning the sea of faces. Her eyes seemed to be
turned in my direction. I waved my handkerchief, and instinct told me
that at last she recognised the point of pink and the flutter of white
as me.
Then the stage was cleared of the gentle cats and the wire cage
containing Hephaestus was pushed forward by Quast. He showed off the
ferocious beast's quality by making it dash itself against the wires,
arch its huge back, and shoot out venomous claws. Lola commanded him
by sign to open the cage. He approached in simulated terror, Hephaestus
uttering blood-curdling howls, and every time he touched the handle of
the door Hephaestus sprang at him like a tiger with the tomcat's
hateful hiss. At last, amid the laughter of the audience (for this was
prearranged business), Quast suddenly refused to obey his mistress any
more, and went and sat on the floor in the corner of the stage. Then
Lola, with a glance of contempt at him for his poltroonery and a glance
of confidence at the audience, opened the cage door and dragged the
gigantic and malevolent brute out by the scruff of its neck and held it
up like a rabbit, as she had done in Anastasius's cattery.
Suddenly her iron grip seemed to relax; she made one or two ineffectual
efforts to retain it and the brute dropped to the ground. She looked at
it for a second disconcerted as if she had lost her nerve, and then,
in a horrible flash, the beast sprang at her face. She uttered piercing
screams. The blood spurted from the ghastly claws. Quick as lightning
Quast leapt forward and dragged it off. Lola clapped both hands to her
eyes, and reeled and tottered to the wings, where I saw a man's two arms
receive her. The last thing I saw was Quast kneeling on the beast on the
floor mastering him by some professional clutch. Then there rang out a
sharp whistle and the curtain went down with a run.
I rose, sick with horror, barely conscious of the gasping excitement
that prevailed around me, and blindly groped my path through the crowded
rows of folk towards the door. I had only proceeded half-way when a
sudden silence made me turn, and I saw a man addressing the audience
from the stage. Apparently it was the manager. He regretted to have
to inform the audience that Madame Papadopoulos would not be able
to conclude her most interesting performance that evening as she
had unfortunately received injuries of a very grave nature. Then he
signalled to the orchestra, who crashed into a loud and vulgar march
with clanging brass and thundering drum. It sounded so cynically and
hideously inhuman that I trampled recklessly over people in my mad rush
to the exit.
I found the stage-door, where a knot of the performers were assembled,
talking of the horrible accident. I pushed my way shiveringly through
them, and tried to rush into the building, but was checked by a burly
porter. I explained incoherently in my rusty German. I came for news of
Madame Papadopoulos. I was her _Verlobter_ I declared, with a gush of
inspiration. Whether he believed that I was her affianced I know not,
but he bade me wait, and disappeared with my card. I became at once
the object of the curiosity of the loungers. I heard them whispering
together as they pointed me out and pitying me. The cat had torn her
face away said one woman. I put my hands over my ears so as not to hear.
Presently the porter returned with a stout person in authority, who drew
me into the stage-doorkeeper's box.
“You are a friend of Frau Papadopoulos?”
“Friend!” I cried. “She is to be my wife. I am in a state of horror and
despair. Tell me what has happened.”
Seeing my condition, he laid aside his official manner and became human.
It was a dreadful accident, said he. The beast had apparently got its
claws in near her eyes; but what were her exact injuries he could not
tell, as her face was all over blood and she had fainted with the pain.
The doctor was with her. He had telephoned for an ambulance. I was to be
quite certain that she would receive every possible attention. He would
give my card to the doctor. Meanwhile I was quite at liberty to remain
in the box till the ambulance came. I thanked him.
“In the meantime,” said I, “if you can let me have a word with Fraulein
Dawkins, her maid, should she be in the theatre, or Quast her attendant,
I should be grateful.”
He promised and withdrew. The doorkeeper gave me a wooden chair, and
there I sat for an unconscionable time, faint and dizzy with suspense.
The chance words I had heard in the crowd, the manager's remark about
the claws, the memory of the savage spring at the beloved face made me
feel sick. Every now and then, as some doors leading to the stage swung
open, I could hear the orchestra and the laughter and applause of
the audience. Both Dawkins and Quast visited me. The former was in a
helpless state of tears and hand-wringing. As she knew no word of German
she could understand nothing that the doctors or others said. Madame was
unconscious. Her head was tightly bandaged. That was all the definite
information she had.
“Did Madame know I was in front to-night?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, sir! I think she had a letter from you. She was so pleased,
poor dear Madame. She told me that you would see the best performance
she had ever given.”
Whereupon she broke down and was useless for further examination. Then
Quast came. He could not understand how the accident had occurred.
Hephaestus had never before tried to attack her. She had absolute
mastery over him, and he usually behaved with her as gently as any of
the other cats. With himself it was quite different. He was accustomed
to Hephaestus springing at him; but then he beat him hard with a great
stick until he was so sore that he could neither stand up nor lie down.
“I have always implored Madame to carry something heavier than that
silly little whip, and now it's all over. She will never be able to
control him again. Hephaestus will have to be killed, and I will be
desolate. Ach, what a misfortune!”
He began to weep.
“Good God!” I cried; “you don't mean to say that you're sorry for the
brute?”
“One can't help being fond of him. We have been for five years
inseparable companions!”
I had no sympathy to fling away on him at that moment.
“How do you account for his spring at Madame to-night? That's all I want
to know.”
“She must have been thinking of something else when she grabbed him. For
she missed her grip. Then he fell and was frightened, and she must have
lost her nerve. Hephaestus knew it, and sprang. That is always the case
when wild animals turn. All accidents happen like that.”
His words filled me with a new and sickening dread.
_“She must have been thinking of something else.”_ Of what else but of
my presence there? That stupid, selfish wave of the handkerchief! I sat
gnawing my hands and cursing myself.
The ambulance arrived. Men hurried past my box. I waited again in agony
of mind. At last the porter came and cleared the passage and doorway of
loungers, and I heard the tread of footsteps and gruff directions. The
manager and a man in a frock-coat and black tie, whom I recognised as
the doctor, came down the passage, followed by two great men carrying
between them a stretcher covered by a sheet on which lay all that I
loved in life. Dawkins followed, weeping, and then came several theatre
folk. I went outside and saw the stretcher put into the ambulance-van,
and then I made myself known to the doctor.
“She has received very great injuries--chiefly the right cheek and eye.
So much so that she needs an oculist's care at once. I have telephoned
to Dr. Steinholz, of No. 4, Thiergarten, one of our ablest oculists, to
receive her now into his clinique. If you care to do so, you are welcome
to accompany me.”
I drove through the gay, flaring streets of Berlin like a man in a
phantasmagoria of horror.