"A short time before I went to England I found out what had so much
upset your father. Your visit to Salzburg had been used for foul play;
during your absence your father's score of _Griseldis_ had been stolen."
"What?" cried both women.
"It is so," I continued. "Mr. Doblana suspects that it was stolen with
_Fräulein_ Mitzi's support. This, and the desire of the Archduke that
no fuss should be made in which his name would necessarily be involved
has prevented police inquiries. But I do not share Mr. Doblana's
opinion. I thought and, of course, still think, that _Fräulein_ Mitzi
is absolutely innocent. I believed then that the Salzburg wire had been
sent by the Comtesse Augusta...."
"Oh!" cried Mitzi.
"I believed so until yesterday. I apologize now; my suspicion was
evidently erroneous. I also thought that for some unknown reason Mr.
Giulay had stolen the score...."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mitzi again.
And Fanny protested vigorously:
"It is not true!"
"In this part," I declared, "I feel unable to give in. My proof is that
Fanny tried to protect Mr. Giulay by telling us that story of the cook,
and again tries to shield him now."
"What else?" asked Fanny ironically.
"Fanny and Giulay," I concluded triumphantly, "acted in agreement.
Fanny was in Giulay's service, was his accomplice. Her leave had begun
on the Friday morning. She went at once to Salzburg from where she sent
the wire. There is a train leaving Vienna at ten o'clock which arrives
at three in Salzburg. _Fräulein_ received the wire at about five. It
fits to a nicety."
"It is not true!" cried the maid again, bursting into tears.
"Then why," prompted I, "why did you tell that story of the cook? Why
did you declare that you knew that it was a month since Mr. Giulay had
left Vienna even for half a day?"
She sniffed.
"Fanny," said Mitzi gently, "you have always been a good girl. Why did
you tell these lies?"
Fanny sniffed more. With her nose, with her mouth, with all her throat.
If it had been possible she would have sniffed with her ears. But there
came no reply.
"Fanny," repeated Mitzi, "you see that appearances are all against you."
A paroxysm of sniffing answered, while the girl assented with her head,
and her tears redoubled. Who would have thought she had so much water
in her?[2]
"You must tell us the truth," insisted Mitzi. "You will understand that
by your silence you only strengthen the suspicion which lies upon you."
There was a pause. And then, suddenly, Fanny turned upon me with
clenched fists, her wet face purple with rage. She trembled with anger.
"What did I do to you," she said with a cry of exasperation, "that you
should come and wrong me so? I am no thief, nor is Mr. Giulay. He has
not taken the music, nor have I sent the wire ..."
"But, Fanny," interrupted Mitzi.
"No _Fräulein_, it's no use ... you won't prove anything. The young
gentleman wants to know the truth. Well, I will say the truth: I used
to walk out with Mr. Giulay ..."
Mitzi and I were speechless at this revelation.
"... and during these three days we were on the Semmering[3] together
and didn't leave each other for a minute. That's all. And now,
_Fräulein_ will be good enough to take my notice."
With these words Fanny left the room. And then another tempest burst.
This time I was the victim. I will not give you many details. But you
may imagine Mitzi's state of mind. She had in one minute, as the result
of Fanny's confession, lost a good maid who had faithfully served
her for six years, and seen her belief in her esteemed friend Giulay
ruined, Giulay, who was carrying on a love affair with such a low class
girl. And all that through me, without my having even succeeded in
finding a solution for "The Mystery of the Griseldis score."
I will add here that Fanny informed her fancy gentleman of the whole
discussion, and how I had suspected her and him. You will not be
surprised to hear that the theatrical agent's interest in me and my
work disappeared there and then, and that he did not undertake one more
step for me.
But this is only a secondary matter. For the present the avalanche of
reproaches that fell on me was quite sufficient. A regular scene took
place between Mitzi and her detective-composer. (For wasn't I a student
in both these callings, of which I can only say that either is the
worse?)
You, who have been kind enough to read these confessions, you know that
I gave my inmost heart to the composition of my _Lady Macbeth_, and
you will learn only too soon how I fared. So much for the composer. Now
for the detective. You also know with what care I investigated "The
Mystery of the Griseldis score," how patiently I waited and kept my
suspicions for myself as long as I was not sure. If in the end I was
deceived by appearances, if I made a blunder, was it my fault? What
business had Fanny to walk out with Giulay, and Mitzi to embark upon an
operatic career against the wish of her father?
Well, we were very busy, Mitzi saying nasty things to me, and I trying
to soften her, when we heard Mr. Doblana's key turning in the lock.
He was coming home from his rehearsal. Then we perceived the noise of
a smaller key. He was opening the letter box. And after a minute he
walked in, finding us seated in two opposite corners of the room, as
far as possible from each other--Mitzi looking sullen--I meek.
And he? Gracious me, what a sour face he made. He walked up and down
for a minute or so, and if there had been on our part the slightest
wish to talk, we would not have dared to do it, so cheerful did he
look.
At last he mumbled a few words about treachery, respect due by the
children and so on, and after these short preliminaries the storm, the
third one of the day, broke forth. He had just received a letter from
the manager of the Brünn municipal theatre. Miss Doblana not being of
age, her father was required to endorse the contract.
My word, he was in a rage. No!--he was not going to give his consent to
such utter folly. He was indignant at being deceived in this way.
"Have I not a thousand times expressed my wish that you should not go
on the stage?"
"Oh," answered Mitzi sweetly, "you have certainly done it more than a
thousand times. But I have failed to understand why."
"Is the example of your unhappy aunt, of La Carina, not enough?"
"My mother, too, was an operatic singer."
"I do not speak of your mother, I speak of your aunt."
"Well, what of her?"
"Was her's not a life of shame?"
"I feel unable to see it in that light."
"Was your mother not ashamed of her? Did she not for years hide from me
the mere existence of your aunt Kathi, of La Carina? Was I not cheated
by your mother every day exactly as I have now been cheated once more
by you? And what for? I ask you, what for? Do you think that every
she-cat that walks miaowing over the boards will find an Archduke?"