I TRAVERSE THE NIGHT
We were drenched to the skin and bespattered with mud, cold and
cheerless but full of a grim excitement. Across the street from the
small, poorly lighted railway station there was an eating-house. Leaving
the car in the shelter of a freight shed, we sloshed through the shiny
rivulet that raced between the curbs and entered the clean,
unpretentious little restaurant.
There was a rousing smell of roasted coffee pervading the place. A
sleepy German waiter first came up and glanced sullenly at the
mud-tracks we left upon the floor; then he allowed his insulting gaze
to trail our progress to the lunch counter by means of a perfect torrent
of rain-water drippings. He went out of the room grumbling, to return
a moment later with a huge mop. Thereupon he ordered us out of the
place, standing ready with the mop to begin the cleansing process the
instant we vacated the stools. It was quite clear to both of us that
he wanted to begin operations at the exact spot where we were standing.
"Coffee for two," said I, in German. To me anything uttered in the
German language sounds gruff and belligerent, no matter how gentle its
meaning. That amiable sentence: "Ich liebe dich" is no exception; to
me it sounds relentless. I am confident that I asked for coffee in a
very mild and ingratiating tone, in direct contrast to his command to
get out, and was somewhat ruffled by his stare of speechless rage.
"Zwei," said Britton, pointing to the big coffee urn.
The fellow began mopping around my feet--in fact, he went so far as
to mop the tops of them and a little way up my left leg in his efforts
to make a good, clean job of it.
"Stop that!" I growled, kicking at the mop. Before I could get my foot
back on the floor he skilfully swabbed the spot where it had been
resting, a feat of celerity that I have never seen surpassed. "Damn
it, don't!" I roared, backing away. The resolute mop followed me like
the spectre of want. Fascinated, I found myself retreating to the
doorway.
Britton, resourceful fellow, put an end to his endeavours by jumping
upon the mop and pinning it to the floor very much as he would have
stamped upon a wounded rat.
The fellow called out lustily to some one in the kitchen, at the same
time giving the mop handle a mighty jerk. If you are expecting me to
say that Britton came to woe, you are doomed to disappointment. It was
just the other way about. Just as the prodigious yank took place, my
valet hopped nimbly from the mop, and the waiter sat down with a
stunning thud.
I do not know what might have ensued had not the proprietress of the
place appeared at that instant, coming from the kitchen. She was the
cook as well, and she was large enough to occupy the space of at least
three Brittons. She was huge beyond description.
"Wass iss?" she demanded, pausing aghast. Her voice was a high, belying
treble.
I shall not attempt to describe in detail all that followed. It is
only necessary to state that she removed the mop from the hands of the
quaking menial and fairly swabbed him out into the thick of the
rainstorm.
While we were drinking our hot, steaming coffee and gorging ourselves
with frankfurters, the poor wretch stood under the eaves with his face
glued to the window, looking in at us with mournful eyes while the
drippings from the tiles poured upon his shoulders and ran in rivulets
down his neck. I felt so sorry for him that I prevailed upon the
muttering, apologetic hostess to take him in again. She called him in
as she might have called a dog, and he edged his way past her with the
same scared, alert look in his eyes that one always sees in those of
an animal that has its tail between its legs.
She explained that he was her nephew, just off the farm. Her sister's
son, she said, and naturally not as intelligent as he ought to be.
While we were sitting there at the counter, a train roared past the
little station. We rushed to the door in alarm. But it shot through
at the rate of fifty miles an hour. I looked at my watch. It still
wanted half-an-hour of train time, according to the schedule.
"It was the express, mein herr," explained the woman. "It never stops.
We are too small yet. Some time we may be big enough." I noticed that
her eyes were fixed in some perplexity on the old clock above the pie
shelves. "Ach! But it has never been so far ahead of time as to-night.
It is not due for fifteen minutes yet, and here it is gone yet."
"Perhaps your clock is slow," I said. "My watch says four minutes to
twelve."
Whereupon she heaped a tirade of abuse upon the shrinking Hans for
letting the clock lose ten minutes of her valuable time. To make sure,
Hans set it forward nearly half an hour while she was looking the other
way. Then he began mopping the floor again.
At half-past twelve the train from Munich drew up at the station,
panted awhile in evident disdain, and then moved on.
A single passenger alighted: a man with a bass viol. There was no sign
of the Tituses!
We made a careful and extensive search of the station, the platform
and even the surrounding neighbourhood, but it was quite evident that
they had not left the train. Here was a pretty pass! Britton, however,
had the rather preposterous idea that there might be another train a
little later on. It did not seem at all likely, but we made inquiries
of the station agent. To my surprise--and to Britton's infernal British
delight--there was a fast train, with connections from the north,
arriving in half an hour. It was, however, an hour late, owing to the
storm.
"Do you mean that it will arrive at two o'clock?" I demanded in dismay.
"No, no," said the guard; "it will arrive at one but not until two.
It is late, mein herr."
We dozed in the little waiting-room for what I consider to be the
longest hour I've ever known, and then hunted up the guard once more.
He blandly informed me that it was still an hour late.
"An hour from _now_?" I asked.
"An hour from two," said he, pityingly. What ignorant lummixes we were!
Just ten minutes before three the obliging guard came in and roused
us from a mild sleep.
"The train is coming, mein herr."
"Thank God!"
"But I neglected to mention that it is an express and never stops
here."
My right hand was still in a bandage, but it was so nearly healed that
I could have used it without discomfort--(note my ability to drive
a motor car)--and it was with the greatest difficulty that I restrained
a mad, devilish impulse to strike that guard full upon the nose, from
which the raindrops coursed in an interrupted descent from the visor
of his cap.
The shrill, childish whistle of the locomotive reached us at that
instant. A look of wonder sprang into the eyes of the guard.
"It--it is going to stop, mein herr," he cried. "Gott in himmel! It
has never stopped before." He rushed out upon the platform in a great
state of agitation, and we trailed along behind him, even more excited
than he.
It was still raining, but not so hard. The glare of the headlight was
upon us for an instant and then, passing, left us in blinding darkness.
The brakes creaked, the wheels grated and at last the train came to
a standstill. For one horrible moment I thought it was going on through
in spite of its promissory signal. Britton went one way and I the
other, with our umbrellas ready. Up and down the line of _wagon lits_ we
raced. A conductor stepped down from the last coach but one, and
prepared to assist a passenger to alight. I hastened up to him.
"Permit me," I said, elbowing him aside.
A portly lady squeezed through the vestibule and felt her way carefully
down the steps. Behind her was a smallish, bewhiskered man, trying to
raise an umbrella inside the narrow corridor, a perfectly impossible
feat.
She came down into my arms with the limpness of one who is accustomed
to such attentions, and then wheeled instantly upon the futile
individual on the steps above.
"Quick! My hat! Heaven preserve us, how it rains!" she cried, in a
deep, wheezy voice and--in German!
"Moth--" I began insinuatingly, but the sacred word died unfinished
on my lips. The next instant I was scurrying down the platform to where
I saw Britton standing.
"Have you seen them?" I shouted wildly.
"No, sir. Not a sign, sir. Ah! See!"
He pointed excitedly down the platform.
"No!" I rasped out. "By no possible stretch of the imagination can
_that_ be Mrs. Titus. Come! We must ask the conductor. _That_ woman?
Good Lord, Britton, she _waddles!_"
The large lady and the smallish man passed us on the way to shelter,
the latter holding an umbrella over her hat with one hand and lugging
a heavy hamper in the other. They were both exclaiming in German. The
station guard and the conductor were bowing and scraping in their wake,
both carrying boxes and bundles.
No one else had descended from the train. I grabbed the conductor by
the arm.
"Any one else getting off here?" I demanded in English and at once
repeated it in German.
He shook himself loose, dropped the bags in the shelter of the station
house, doffed his cap to the imperious backs of his late passengers,
and scuttled back to the car. A moment later the train was under way.
"Can you not see for yourself?" he shouted from the steps as he passed
me by.
Once more I swooped down upon the guard. He was stuffing the large
German lady into a small, lopsided carriage, the driver of which was
taking off his cap and putting it on again after the manner of a
mechanical toy.
"Go away," hissed the guard angrily. "This is the Mayor and the
Mayoress. Stand aside! Can't you see?"
Presently the Mayor and the Mayoress were snugly stowed away in the
creaking hack, and it rattled away over the cobblestones.
"When does the next train get in?" I asked for the third time. He was
still bowing after the departing hack.
"Eh? The next? Oh, mein herr, is it you?"
"Yes, it is still I. Is there another train soon?"
"That was Mayor Berg and his wife," he said, taking off his cap again
in a sort of ecstasy. "The express stops for him, eh? Ha! It stops for
no one else but our good Mayor. When he commands it to stop it stops--"
"Answer my question," I thundered, "or I shall report you to the Mayor!"
"Ach, Gott!" he gasped. Collecting his thoughts, he said: "There is
no train until nine o'clock in the morning. Nine, mein herr."
"Ach, Gott!" groaned I. "Are you sure?"
"Jah! You can go home now and go to bed, sir. There will be no train
until nine and I will not be on duty then. Good night!"
Britton led me into the waiting-room, where I sat down and glared at
him as if he were to blame for everything connected with our present
plight.
"I daresay we'd better be starting 'ome, sir," said he timidly.
"Something 'as gone wrong with the plans, I fear. They did not come,
sir."
"Do you think I am blind?" I roared.
"Not at all, sir," he said in haste, taking a step or two backward.
Inquiries at the little eating-house only served to verify the report
of the station-guard. There would be no train before nine o'clock, and
that was a very slow one; what we would call a "local" in the States.
Sometimes, according to the proprietress, it was so slow that it didn't
get in at all. It had been known to amble in as late as one in the
afternoon, but when it happened to be later than that it ceased to
have an identity of its own and came in as a part of the two o'clock
train. Moreover, it carried nothing but third-class carriages and more
often than not it had as many as a dozen freight cars attached.
There was not the slightest probability that the fastidious Mrs. Titus
would travel by such a train, so we were forced to the conclusion that
something had gone wrong with the plans. Very dismally we prepared for
the long drive home. What could have happened to upset the well-arranged
plan? Were Tarnowsy's spies so hot upon the trail that it was necessary
for her to abandon the attempt to enter my castle? In that case, she
must have sent some sort of a message to her daughter, apprising her
of the unexpected change; a message which, unhappily for me, arrived
after my departure. It was not likely that she would have altered her
plans without letting us know, and yet I could not shake off an
exasperating sense of doubt. If I were to believe all that Bangs said
about the excellent lady, it would not be unlike her to do quite as
she pleased in the premises without pausing to consider the comfort
or the convenience of any one else interested in the undertaking. A
selfish desire to spend the day in Lucerne might have overtaken her
_en passant_, and the rest of us could go hang for all that she cared
about consequences!
I am ashamed to confess that the longer I considered the matter, the
more plausible this view of the situation appeared to me. By the time
we succeeded in starting the engine, after cranking for nearly half
an hour, I was so consumed by wrath over the scurvy trick she had
played upon us that I swore she should not enter my castle if I could
prevent it; moreover, I would take fiendish delight in dumping her
confounded luggage into the Danube.
I confided my views to Britton who was laboriously cranking the machine
and telling me between grunts that the "bloody water 'ad got into it,"
and we both resorted to painful but profound excoriations without in
the least departing from our relative positions as master and man: he
swore about one abomination and I another, but the gender was
undeviatingly the same.
We also had trouble with the lamps.
At last we were off, Britton at the wheel. I shall not describe that
diabolical trip home. It is only necessary to say that we first lost
our way and went ten or twelve kilometers in the wrong direction; then
we had a blow-out and no quick-detachable rim; subsequently something
went wrong with the mud-caked machinery and my unfortunate valet had
to lie on his back in a puddle for half an hour; eventually we sneaked
into the garage with our trembling Mercedes, and quarrelled manfully
with the men who had to wash her.
"Great heaven, Britton!" I groaned, stopping short in my sloshy progress
down the narrow street that led to the ferry.
He looked at me in astonishment. I admit that the ejaculation must
have sounded weak and effeminate to him after what had gone before.
"What is it, sir?" he asked, at once resuming his status as a servant
after a splendid hiatus of five hours or more in which he had enjoyed
all of the by-products of equality.
"Poopendyke!" I exclaimed, aghast. "I have just thought of him. The
poor devil has been waiting for us three miles up the river since
midnight! What do you think of that!"
"No such luck, sir," said he, grumpily.
"Luck! You heartless rascal! What do you mean by that?"
"I beg pardon, sir. I mean to say, he could sit in the boat 'ouse and
twiddle 'is thumbs at the elements, sir. Trust Mr. Poopendyke to keep
out of the rain."
"In any event, he is still waiting there for us, wet or dry. He and
the two big Schmicks." I took a moment for thought. "We must telephone
to the castle and have Hawkes send Conrad out with word to them." I
looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes past seven. "I suppose no
one in the castle went to bed last night. Good Lord, what a scene for
a farce!"
We retraced our steps to the garage, where Britton went to the
telephone. I stood in the doorway of the building, staring gloomily,
hollow-eyed at the--well, at nothing, now that I stop to think of it.
The manager of the place, an amiable, jocund descendant of Lazarus,
approached me.
"Quite a storm last night, Mr. Schmarck," he said, rubbing his hands
on an oil-rag. I gruffly agreed with him in a monosyllable. "But it
is lovely to-day, sir. Heavenly, sir."
"Heavenly?" I gasped.
"Ah, but look at the glorious sun," he cried, waving the oil-rag in
all directions at once.
The sun! Upon my word, the sun _was_ shining fiercely. I hadn't noticed
it before. The tops of the little red-tiled houses down the street
glistened in the glare of sunshine that met my gaze as I looked up at
them. Suddenly I remembered that I had witnessed the sunrise, a most
doleful, dreary phenomenon that overtook us ten miles down the valley. I
had seen it but it had made no impression on my tortured mind. The great
god of day had sprung up out of the earth to smile upon me--or at
me--and I had let him go unnoticed, so black and desolate was the memory
of the night he destroyed! I had only a vague recollection of the dawn.
The thing that caused me the most concern was the discovery that we had
run the last half of our journey in broad daylight with our acetylene
lamps going full blast. I stared at the tiles, blinking and unbelieving.
"Well, I'm--dashed," I said, with a silly grin.
"The moon will shine to-night, Mr. Schmarck--" he began insinuatingly.
"_Smart_, if you please," I snapped.
"Ah," he sighed, rolling his eyes, "it is fine to be in love."
A full minute passed before I grasped the meaning of that soft answer,
and then it was too late. He had gone about his business without waiting
to see whether my wrath had been turned away. I had been joy-riding!
The excitement in Britton's usually imperturbable countenance as he
came running up to me from the telephone closet prepared me in a way
for the startling news that was to come.
"Has anything serious happened?" I cried, my heart sinking a little
lower.
"I had Mr. Poopendyke himself on the wire, sir. What do you think,
sir?"
A premonition! "She--she has arrived?" I demanded dully.
He nodded. "She 'as, sir. Mrs.--your mother, sir, is in your midst."
The proximity of the inquisitive manager explains this extraordinary
remark on the part of my valet. We both glared at the manager and he
had the delicacy to move away. "She arrived by a special train at
twelve lawst night, sir."
I was speechless. The brilliant sunshine seemed to be turning into
sombre night before my eyes; everything was going black.
"She's asleep, he says, and doesn't want to be disturbed till noon,
so he says he can't say anything more just now over the telephone
because he's afraid of waking 'er." (Britton drops them when excited.)
"He doesn't have to shout so loud that he can be heard on the top
floor," said I, still a trifle dazed.
"She 'appens to be sleeping in your bed, sir, he says."
"In _my_ bed? Good heavens, Britton! What's to become of _me_?"
"Don't take it so 'ard, sir," he made haste to say. "Blatchford 'as
fixed a place for you on the couch in your study, sir. It's all very
snug, sir."
"But, Britton," I said in horror, "suppose that I should have come
home last night. Don't you see?"
"I daresay she 'ad the door locked, sir," he said.
"By special train," I mumbled. A light broke in upon my reviving
intellect. "Why, it was the train that went through at a mile a minute
while we were in the coffee-house. No wonder we didn't meet her!"
"I shudder to think of wot would 'ave 'appened if we had, sir," said
he, meaning no doubt to placate me. "Mr. Poopendyke says the Countess
'as been up all night worrying about you, sir. She has been distracted.
She wanted 'im to go out and search for you at four o'clock this
morning, but he says he assured 'er you'd turn up all right. He says
Mrs.--the elderly lady, begging your pardon, sir,--thought she was
doing for the best when she took a special. She wanted to save us all
the trouble she could. He says she was very much distressed by our
failure to 'ave some one meet her with a launch when she got here last
night, sir. As it was, she didn't reach the castle until nearly one,
and she looked like a drowned rat when she got there, being hex--exposed
to a beastly rainstorm. See wot I mean? She went to bed in a _dreadful_
state, he says, but he thinks she'll be more pleasant before the day is
over."
I burst into a fit of laughter. "Hurray!" I shouted, exultantly. "So
she was out in it too, eh? Well, by Jove, I don't feel half as badly
as I did five minutes ago. Come! Let us be off."
We started briskly down the street. My spirits were beginning to
rebound. Poopendyke had said that she worried all night about me! She
had been distracted! Poor little woman! Still I was glad to know that
she had the grace to sit up and worry instead of going to sleep as she
might have done. I was just mean enough to be happy over it.
Poopendyke met us on the town side of the river. He seemed a trifle
haggard, I thought. He was not slow, on the other hand, to announce
in horror-struck tones that I looked like a ghost.
"You must get those wet clothes off at once, Mr. Smart, and go to bed
with a hot water bottle and ten grains of quinine. You'll be very ill
if you don't. Put a lot more elbow grease into those oars, Max. Get
a move on you. Do you want Mr. Smart to die of pneumonia?"
While we were crossing the muddy river, my secretary, his teeth
chattering with cold and excitement combined, related the story of the
night.
"We were just starting off for the boat-house up the river, according
to plans, Max and Rudolph and I with the two boats, when the Countess
came down in a mackintosh and a pair of gum boots and insisted upon
going along with us. She said it wasn't fair to make you do all the
work, and all that sort of thing, and I was having the devil's own
time to induce her to go back to the castle with Mr. Bangs. While we
were arguing with her,--and it was getting so late that I feared we
wouldn't be in time to meet you,--we heard some one shouting on the
opposite side of the river. The voice sounded something like Britton's,
and the Countess insisted that there had been an accident and that you
were hurt, Mr. Smart, and nothing would do but we must send Max and
Rudolph over to see what the trouble was. It was raining cats and dogs,
and I realised that it would be impossible for you to get a boatman
on that side at that hour of the night,--it was nearly one,--so I sent
the two Schmicks across. I've never seen a night as dark as it was.
The two little lanterns bobbing in the boat could hardly be seen through
the torrents of rain, and it was next to impossible to see the lights
on the opposite landing stage--just a dull, misty glow.
"To make the story short, Mrs. Titus and her sons were over there,
with absolutely no means of crossing the river. There were no boatmen,
the ferry had stopped, and they were huddled under the eaves of the
wharf building. Everything was closed and locked up for the night. The
night-watchman and a policeman lit the pier lamps for them, but that's
as far as they'd go. It took two trips over to fetch the whole party
across. Raining pitchforks all the time, you understand. Mrs. Titus
was foaming at the mouth because you don't own a yacht or at least a
launch with a canopy top, or a limousine body, or something of the
sort.
"I didn't have much of a chance to converse with her. The Countess
tried to get her upstairs in the east wing but she wouldn't climb
another step. I forgot to mention that the windlass was out of order
and she had to climb the hill in mud six inches deep. The Schmicks
carried her the last half of the distance. She insisted on sleeping
in the hall or the study,--anywhere but upstairs. I assumed the
responsibility of putting her in your bed, sir. It was either that
or--"
I broke in sarcastically "You couldn't have put her into your bed, I
suppose."
"Not very handily, Mr. Smart," he said in an injured voice. "One of
her sons occupied my bed. Of course, it was all right, because I didn't
intend to go to bed, as it happened. The older son went upstairs with
the Countess. She gave up her bed to him, and then she and I sat up
all night in the study waiting for a telephone message from you. The
younger son explained a good many things to us that his mother
absolutely refused to discuss, she was so mad when she got here. It
seems she took it into her head at the last minute to charter a special
train, but forgot to notify us of the switch in the plans. She travelled
by the regular train from Paris to some place along the line, where
she got out and waited for the special which was following along behind,
straight through from Paris, too. A woeful waste of money, it seemed
to me. Her idea was to throw a couple of plain-clothes men off the
track, and, by George, sir, she succeeded. They thought she was changing
from a train to some place in Switzerland, and went off to watch the
other station. Then she sneaked aboard the special, which was chartered
clear through to Vienna. See how clever she is? If they followed on
the next train, or telegraphed, it would naturally be to Vienna. She
got off at this place and--well, we have her with us, sir, as snug
as a bug in a rug."
"What is she like, Fred?" I inquired. I confess that I hung on his
reply.
"I have never seen a wet hen, but I should say, on a guess, that she's
a good bit like one. Perhaps when she's thoroughly dried out she may
not be so bad, but--" He drew a long, deep breath. "But, upon my word
of honour, she was the limit last night. Of course one couldn't expect
her to be exactly gracious, with her hair plastered over her face and
her hat spoiled and her clothes soaked, but there was really no excuse
for some of the things she said to me. I shall overlook them for your
sake and for the Countess's." He was painfully red in the face.
"The conditions, Fred," I said, "were scarcely conducive to polite
persiflage."
"But, hang it all, I was as wet as she was," he exploded, so violently
that I knew his soul must have been tried to the utmost.
"We must try to make the best of it," I said. "It will not be for
long." The thought of it somehow sent my heart back to its lowest
level.
He was glum and silent for a few minutes. Then he said, as if the
thought had been on his mind for some hours: "She isn't a day over
forty-five. It doesn't seem possible, with a six-foot son twenty-six
years old."
Grimly I explained. "They marry quite young when it's for money, Fred."
"I suppose that's it," he sighed. "I fancy she's handsome, too, when
she hasn't been rained upon."
We were half way up the slope when he announced nervously that all of
my dry clothing was in the closet off my bedroom and could not be got
at under any circumstance.
"But," he said, "I have laid out my best frock coat and trousers for
you, and a complete change of linen. You are quite welcome to anything
I possess, Mr. Smart. I think if you take a couple of rolls at the
bottom of the trousers, they'll be presentable. The coat may be a
little long for you, but--"
My loud laughter cut him short.
"It's the best I could do," he said in an aggrieved voice.
I had a secret hope that the Countess would be in the courtyard to
welcome me, but I was disappointed. Old Gretel met me and wept over
me, as if I was not already sufficiently moist. The chef came running
out to say that breakfast would be ready for me when I desired it;
Blatchford felt of my coat sleeve and told me that I was quite wet;
Hawkes had two large, steaming toddies waiting for us in the vestibule,
apparently fearing that we could get no farther without the aid of a
stimulant. But there was no sign of a single Titus.
Later I ventured forth in Poopendyke's best suit of clothes--the one
he uses when he passes the plate on Sundays in far-away Yonkers. It
smelled of moth-balls, but it was gloriously dry, so why carp! We
sneaked down the corridor past my own bedroom door and stole into the
study.
Just inside the door, I stopped in amazement. The Countess was sound
asleep in my big armchair, a forlorn but lovely thing in a pink
peignoir. Her rumpled brown hair nestled in the angle of the chair;
her hands drooped listlessly at her sides; dark lashes lay upon the
soft white cheeks; her lips were parted ever so slightly, and her bosom
rose and fell in the long swell of perfect repose.
Poopendyke clutched me by the arm and drew me toward the door, or I
might have stood there transfixed for heaven knows how long.
"She's asleep," he whispered.
It was the second time in twelve hours that some one had intimated
that I was blind.
* * * * *