THE END
I had a lovely trip in that old practice bus. She was quite a decent
old thing and I let her rip, all out, as long as the daylight lasted.
I had half expected No. 14 would have been sent up in pursuit, but I
had too good a start to trouble about that and was a trifle
disappointed that this was realized at Ellendorf. It would have been
rare fun to have had a game of chivy chase over Dutch territory; quite
good sport; but I had to travel without escort.
In the language of the communiques, there was "a certain liveliness" as
I crossed the frontier. The Dutchies could see the German crosses on
the planes and a couple of archies expressed their resentment at the
trespass; but I was then too high up for anything to ruffle my
feathers, and the storm in a teacup was soon left far behind.
About dusk I went down to spy for a landing-place, spotted one near a
railway station, and decided in its favour out of consideration for
Harden. He had been very decent and unwittingly had done me such a
really good turn, that it was only fair to return the bus to him.
Lots of people had seen me, of course, and when I landed I had quite a
reception at the hands of the police, some soldiers and other gapers,
all of whom very naturally mistook me for a German officer. I was
arrested amid much fussation and great babble of tongues and hauled off
to the mayor of the town, after having arranged for the safe-keeping of
the machine.
He was a fat jovial little man with twinkling, merry eyes, and when I
told him my story, he laughed over the telephone incident until the
tears literally streamed down his cheeks and I feared he'd have an
apoplectic fit.
He was Anglophile to the finger-tips, made me consent to remain the
night in his house, promised to see to the return of the bus, and found
me a rig-out of clothes; but stuck when I suggested the return of
Vibach's uniform also. He declared that nothing should induce him to
part with such a delightful memento of the incident.
I spent a jolly evening with him. He brought in a few congenial friends
and I had to tell the story over again, to the running accompaniment of
shouts of laughter, prodigalities of Schnapps, and comments on the
Germans which would have meant ages of penal servitude if uttered on
the other side of the frontier.
Most of his friends turned up at the station the next day to see me off
to Rotterdam; and the train steamed off amid a storm of cheers, waving
of hats, and cries of good luck. Then some one started "God save the
King," which they were all yelling at full lung power until I was out
of hearing. I might have been His Majesty himself, judging by the
enthusiasm; and my fellow passengers looked as if they thought I was
some important big-wig.
I reached Rotterdam late in the afternoon, got the name of Nessa's
hotel after a little trouble at the Consulate, and was going to 'phone
to her, when an irresistible temptation seized me.
I was fearfully bucked over my lucky escape and I simply could not help
trying a last wheeze with her as a good wind up. I hunted up a good
barber's shop, bought a black, glossy-haired wig and a toothbrush
moustache and imperial to match, darkened my eyebrows and made up with
a few wrinkles and little artistic touches of the sort.
It was quite a good disguise; and a pair of black cotton gloves, two
sizes too large, and a sort of lumpy gamp umbrella helped to suggest
the character I had in my mind. Then I scribbled on a dirty piece of
carefully crumpled paper a note introducing myself.
"You can trust the bearer, Van Heerenveen by name, a true friend in
need to us both. Jack."
I went to the hotel in the dusk and sent in the name, saying I wished
to see her on important private business; a tip secured me the sole use
of what was called the Reception Saloon, a dingy little room with one
window; I dimmed the already poor light by drawing the blind half down,
and chose my seat so that my back should be to it.
I had a qualm and nearly gave the show away when I saw the trouble and
anxiety in her dear pale face; but I checked the impulse, knowing how
delighted she would be the instant she recognized me, and what laughs
we should have over it together in the delicious afterwards.
She was intensely puzzled by the odd figure I cut, but didn't spot the
disguise, although she stared hard enough to see right through me. Her
nervousness at such an unexpected visitor helped to blind her sharp
eyes.
She paused on the threshold with a start and a frown of concern and
perplexity. "You wish to see me, sir? I could not quite catch your name
from the servant," she said in German.
"Van Heerenveen is my name, madam," I replied. I was chiefly afraid
that my voice would betray me; so I spoke slowly, made a big mouthful
of the name, deepened my tone and put a little husk into it, talked out
of the side of my mouth, and rolled out in deliberate guttural
gibberish what I intended her to take for a question in Dutch.
"I do not speak Dutch, sir; only English, German, and French."
I nodded slowly and made a little play with the loose finger-tips of my
ridiculous gloves. "Will you not sit down, if you please?" I said in
German. "Do not be alarmed, I beg you. There is no need, if you are
Miss Nessa Caldicott."
She had been holding the door half open and now closed it and sat in
the chair I had placed in readiness, and I sat on the opposite side of
the room at a safe distance.
"I am Miss Caldicott, of course."
"It is necessary for me to be quite sure of that, madam. Have I your
permission to ask you a few questions?" The voice had passed muster all
right, and, as she was close to the door and I so far away, her anxiety
soon gave way to curiosity. She was absolutely puzzled.
"Certainly, sir."
"You have come from Germany? Is that so?"
"Yes, I arrived yesterday."
"May I ask for your passport, if you please?"
She started. "Why? As a matter of fact I haven't one; but I am known at
the British Consulate here. They suggested my coming to this hotel."
"No passport? Umph!" I grunted with a solemn wag of the head. "Is it so
that you came from Berlin and left there somewhat hurriedly?"
"Oh, yes. I was there at the outbreak of the war and they meant to send
me to an internment camp; I ran away."
"Umph!" I grunted again, fingering my imperial with my glove
monstrosities; a gesture which she noticed with a flickering smile.
"Were you alone, madam?"
She hesitated. "No; but I cannot say more than that." Staunch little
beggar, she wouldn't give me away until she knew more.
"You must speak frankly to me, madam. I know the person who accompanied
you. I ask you because I must be certain who you are."
She wasn't to be drawn by that. "I must know first why you come to me,"
she said with one of her quick head gestures.
"I come as a friend, madam."
"Pardon me, but how am I to know that?"
I pushed her hard, but nothing would induce her to give me the name.
"Very well, I will try another course. There were certain incidents on
the journey. You will tell me them?"
"There was a collision and the train was wrecked."
"But before that?"
Again she jibbed and would not utter a syllable to bring me into it. It
took all my restraint to refrain from making a dart forward to take her
in my arms.
"Well, what occurred afterwards, then? How did you leave Germany?"
She thought for a second or two. "I can tell you that. I was brought
over the frontier in an aeroplane and the pilot saw me afterwards to
the station at Almelo, and from there I travelled here."
Vandervelt had kept his word loyally. "You will tell me that man's
name, madam?"
"I cannot do that. He treated me with the greatest kindness and
consideration and asked me not to do so."
"Was the name Vandervelt, madam?"
"How do you know that?" she rapped quickly.
"It is enough that I do know it and that you were known to him as the
sister of a man who called himself Hans Bulich."
Her eyes widened in astonishment. "Who are you?" she asked; and I made
sure she had begun to suspect, so intent was her stare. If the room had
not been so gloomy she would certainly have seen through the disguise.
"I am satisfied," I replied, holding my head down while I fumbled in
one of my gloves and took out the note I had scribbled. "This is from
Hans Bulich."
Dear heart, how excited she was! She sprang up eagerly and rushed
across as I held it up, her hands trembling and the tears of joy in her
eyes. "Give it me, please, give it me," she cried shakily. "Is he safe?
Is all well? Oh, Mr. Heerenveen, do--do tell me everything."
"Quite safe, madam," I managed to reply, for I was fast getting as
excited as Nessa herself.
"Oh, thank God for that! Then you have seen him since I left? Where is
he? Still in Lingen? Please don't keep me in suspense."
"He is in Holland, madam. I crossed the frontier with him."
"And you've come to take me to him, of course? Oh, you are indeed what
he says, a friend. Can't we go now, this instant? I am ready. You're
sure he's not in any trouble? Do tell me, please, at once."
"He is not in trouble, but he does not wish me to take you to him,
madam. There is something you must learn first. You know that he is
suspected of murder; I do not wish to call him a scoundrel----"
"Scoundrel indeed! I should think not," she cried, blazing with
indignation. "He is one of the noblest----"
I couldn't have her saying this sort of thing under false pretences, so
I stopped her by waggling one of my ridiculous gloves protestingly.
"Stay, madam, stay, I cannot hear that," I exclaimed. "I have still
something to show you. Permit me;" and I went to the end of the room,
stood with my back to her, and under pretence of fumbling in my
pockets, I pulled off the moustache and imperial. "If you knew what he
is doing at this moment, madam, you also might be tempted to call him a
scoundrel."
"Never! Never!" she exclaimed almost fiercely.
"Then I must decline to take you to him at all!"
"Why? In Heaven's name, why?"
"Because I'm here already, of course," I replied as I whipped off my
wig and faced round.
She was petrified for a second, and then with a glad cry made a rush at
me. "Jack! Jack! Then you are a scoun----"
"Didn't I say you'd call me one?"
"But I didn't; I stopped halfway. Oh, Jack, how mean of you! And I've
been talking to you all this time and----"
I stopped her halfway that time. You can guess how. And it was quite a
long time before we could get over our rapturous excitement and settle
down to the story of my escape.
How we laughed at it all together! What lovely little interludes there
were every now and then! What innumerable questions she had to ask,
ferretting out every detail! How we went over it again and again! Then
back to the first part of the journey when we had been together! How we
laughed lightly, now that they were over, at the difficulties and risks
which had seemed so real in the Lassen period! And how we discussed,
with eager smiling perplexity, the still unsolved puzzles!
We were just two happy kids together. The hours slipped away like magic
and we hadn't even begun to think of our plans for getting to England,
when a servant came in to say that the hotel was being closed for the
night, and I had to rush off in search of a bed.
I found out the next morning that a steamer was leaving in the
afternoon and booked our passages, before going to Nessa. She was
writing the good news to Rosa when I arrived and told me that
Vandervelt had promised to take her letters on his next trip and post
them in Germany, so as to dodge the censor.
I thought of some to write also. One was to von Gratzen, explaining
that I was not Lassen, but an Englishman; but not giving him my name.
Another was to Harden, telling him that his aeroplane was being
returned and asking him to forward an enclosure to Captain Schiller.
"Dear Captain Schiller,--
"I am the 'desperate ruffian' with whom you had that interesting chat
over the 'phone the day before yesterday. I wish to confirm what Harden
has probably told you, that after your first talk with him, the rest of
the conversation was entirely with me. I am most grateful to you for
having warned me that the affair with Lieutenant Vibach--a most
offensive bully, by the way--was discovered sooner than I had expected.
Naturally it increased my wish to get away and made it impossible for
me to satisfy your eager desire to make my personal acquaintance at
Ellendorf. That eagerness, combined possibly with your excitement and
temper, no doubt prevented your detecting the difference in the two
voices. Your characteristically national dulness and gullibility will
remain an abiding joy to me. You have, however, the satisfaction of
knowing that you stopped my bringing away the new type of aeroplane.
But the old one served my purpose well enough, for it carried me out of
your country and so out of your reach. We are not likely to meet again,
unless the fortune of war should bring us together on one of the
fronts, when I shall be pleased to tell you the name of the 'desperate
ruffian.'"
There was no time for more letters as we had to hurry to the Consulate
to clear up things there to enable us to avoid trouble on landing in
England.
We had a smooth passage disturbed by neither mine nor submarine. We
scarcely ceased chattering together the whole time, discussing two
topics chiefly--the question of our marriage and the riddle of von
Gratzen's conduct. The first was settled a fortnight later to our
mutual satisfaction, and we went to Ireland on the honeymoon in order
to send the promised sprig of shamrock to our warm-hearted Irish friend
at Massen.
The von Gratzen riddle was not solved until three months later when I
was home on a week's leave and received a German newspaper from
Switzerland containing a marked paragraph. Von Erstein had shot himself
sooner than face the charge of having murdered Anna Hilden.
I handed it to Nessa, who dismissed it with, "Serves him right," and
then drew attention to some little marks and dots scattered about the
same page. "I'm sure they mean something," she declared.
I laughed at the idea and chipped her about it.
But she was right and puzzled over them until she found it out. The
marks were microscopic numbers under various words and letters, and
when she had written them down she read out the result.
"You did not deceive me. You are the image of my dear old friend, your
father. Von G."
The von Gratzen riddle was solved at last.
And didn't Nessa chortle. "What did I tell you, Jack!" she cried,
flourishing the paper triumphantly. "The old fox! He knew you all the
time and you imagined you were so clever. Poor Jack!"
I couldn't stand this, of course; so I punished her.
We were still very much lovers, and you can perhaps guess the nature of
the punishment when I tell you that it made her blush, disarranged her
hair, and prompted the question whether I wished every one to think we
were still honeymooning.
Of course I said yes, and punished her again.
THE END.
_Printed by_ Butler & Tanner, _Frome and London._
End of Project Gutenberg's The Man Without a Memory, by Arthur W. Marchmont