The Man Without a Memory, Arthur W. Marchmont [best business books of all time .txt] 📗

"I mean every letter of the pledge I gave you just now, child or no child," I answered in the same earnest tone.

"My God!" she exclaimed ecstatically, throwing her hands up wildly, and then bursting into tears. "And they told me you were a scoundrel!" She was quite overcome, dropped into a chair and hid her face in her hands. The tears were genuine enough, for when she looked up they had made little runlets in the rouge and powder.

"Well?" I asked presently.

"I'm not fit to be the wife of a man like you," she stammered through her sobs. "I'm dirt to you; just dirt. If more men were like you there'd be less women like me."

Had the moment come to push for her confession? It looked like it; but it seemed cowardly to take advantage of her remorse and distress produced by my own trickery.

"Go away now, please," she said after a long interval.

"But how do we stand, Anna?"

"I don't know. I can't think. I can't do anything. Only that if I'd known—— Oh, for Heaven's sake go away, or I shall say—— Oh, do go!"

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Only leave me alone now."

"Then I'll come to-morrow."

"No, not to-morrow. The next day. Give me time. I must have time," she cried wildly.

I hesitated. In her present condition it would have been easy to frighten her into admitting everything; but somehow I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I left her.

The success of my bluffing offer to marry the woman prompted some regret that the matter had not been pushed home to the point of obtaining her full confession; and it was to prove one of those disastrous blunders which come from decent motives.

I had scarcely left her before I began to see the thing clearly. It had not been difficult to persuade her, but there was von Erstein. He was not likely to believe in any readiness to marry, and would soon be able to talk her round to his view. In that case I might whistle for a confession.

All the same I had not come empty away. She had admitted the lie about "our child," and he couldn't talk that away. Moreover, it was still possible to set inquiries on foot and get the truth that way. It was all to the good that her impression of me was so favourable. There was no acting or humbug about that, and it remained to see the result. It was fairly certain that she would have little desire to carry the scheme any farther.

In the meantime what were the others thinking? Nessa had laughed at the business in the Thiergarten; but there was more than a joke in it, even when one knew the truth. Both she and Rosa would be very curious to learn what had followed, so I went to see them at once and found them all talking about it.

The Countess was shocked and very distressed. "It was such a scandal, Johann; and to happen in such a spot and with the von Gratzens there," she said.

"I need not tell you how sorry I am, aunt."

"That wasn't Johann's fault, mother," said Rosa. "He couldn't prevent the woman choosing such a public place and acting as she did."

"Why do you say choosing, Rosa? You don't imagine she expected to meet Johann there, do you? What happened after we left?" she asked me.

"My impression is that she did choose the place, aunt. I had a talk with her and afterwards saw her at her flat."

"But surely there can't be a scrap of truth in it."

"How can I say? Most emphatically I don't remember her nor a thing she told me."

"What did she tell you, Herr Lassen?" asked Nessa, her eyes twinkling. "Of course we're all anxious to hear—if you don't mind telling us, that is."

"I don't mind in the least. It's not a nice story;" and I told them as shortly as possible. Nessa had to hide her face from the Countess when I spoke of my offer of marriage, and Rosa covered her laughter under a pretence of indignation.

"You seem to have forgotten our engagement very easily, Johann!"

"Oh no. She reminded me of it; but of course she has the first claim."

"Indeed!" she cried, tossing her head.

But her mother took it seriously. "I think you were right, Johann, and I'm thankful you had sufficient manly spirit," she declared, making me feel no end of a hypocrite.

"And when are you to be married, Herr Lassen?" asked Nessa, with mischief in look and tone.

"It is not yet definitely settled."

"And your child?" chipped Rosa.

"There was a mistake there. She admitted afterwards that the child is neither hers nor mine."

"Admitted that!" exclaimed the Countess with more indignation than I thought she was capable of feeling. "Do you mean to tell us that she was brazen-faced enough to confess such a thing? She must be a regular baggage and you must be mad to think of marrying her! I never heard such a thing in all my life."

"She wasn't exactly brazen-faced when she told me, Aunt Olga. I think she was rather affected by my offer; and as an honourable man——"

"Honourable fiddlesticks, Johann! Don't talk rubbish. She's an impostor, nothing else; and I shall go to my lawyer in the morning and tell him to inform the police."

Rosa came to the rescue then. "Unless you want to get Johann into serious trouble, you won't do that, mother. You've often worried because I didn't wish to marry him, and I haven't told you the real reason; but you had better know it now. The woman's story about the sale of secret information is true. You may not remember it, Johann; but I have a couple of letters of yours in which you more than half admit it, and that it was the reason why you fled the country and never intended to come back."

"Rosa!" cried the dear old lady in deep distress. "Is that true, Johann?"

"Unfortunately, I can't say either yes or no, Aunt Olga."

"I'll get the letters," said Rosa, and she fetched them and read the portions out to us. "You can see it's his handwriting;" and she gave the letters to her mother, who glanced at them and then handed them to me.

"I don't know the writing, of course," I said. "I don't believe I could even copy it. I'm in the pothook stage still." It was a small, curiously wriggling fist, difficult to decipher, but easily identified by any one who had ever seen it. And the Countess knew it well.

"What had I better do, Johann?" she appealed.

"I leave that to you. I hope I am incapable of anything of the sort now; but if I did it, I must take the consequences."

"There is only one thing to do, mother; and that is, nothing. You don't want Johann to be shot, I suppose," said Rosa sharply.

"Don't, Rosa!"

"It's all very well to say don't; but that's what will happen if you insist on stirring this dirty water."

"But you wouldn't have him marry such a woman, child!"

"Perhaps he'd rather do even that than be shot," was the retort.

It was cruel, but effective; and after a few more words her mother gave in and went away, distressed to the point of tears.

"I'd rather have had you tell her the whole truth than grieve her like that, Rosa," I said.

"Possibly, but I wouldn't. You don't know mother, and I do. It was necessary to frighten her or she would have spread the story broadcast. I'll go and make it all right presently."

"Do you believe this story about your cousin?"

"I know it's true, and so does Oscar. He told me the moment we heard Johann was coming back."

"But he was coming back in spite of it," pointed out Nessa.

"Because of his spy work, Nessa. He was a born spy. He wormed out a lot of things in America; and the Secret Service people, seeing how good he was at the work, sent him to England and, after what he found out there, told him to come home and promised to overlook the other affair. That'll explain why I wasn't overjoyed to see you," she added to me.

I nodded. "And explain probably why von Gratzen thinks it worth while to send me back to England to recover my memory."

"Very possibly—if he really believes you've lost it, that is. Oscar says its the reason, and he ought to know. He laughed at it all; but it's no mere laughing matter."

"Better to laugh than worry," said I.

"Now tell us all about your Anna," said Nessa, who refused to consider the thing serious.

I gave them a more detailed account of the interview and answered a heap of questions about Anna, describing the change of front she had shown, the way in which she had been led to confess about the child, and my opinion that von Erstein was at the back of it.

"I shall never forget that scene in the Thiergarten to-day," laughed Nessa. "You did look so thunderstruck."

"Nothing to what I felt, I can tell you. I never felt such a fool in my life. Of course I couldn't tell whether she was in earnest or not."

"Nessa laughed and was giggling about it all the way home."

"I couldn't help it. It was so utterly ridiculous, Rosa. Her 'Oh, my long lost darling!' was just exquisite. And she did it uncommonly well."

"My laughter will have to wait till we're all out of the wood," said Rosa; "and there's a long way to go yet."

"Yours won't, will it?" Nessa asked me.

"Not a bit of it. Let's laugh while we can. But now what about the workman's card that I need?"

"Oscar's getting it," replied Rosa. "I told him to lose no time; and after this affair to-day, the sooner you're away, the easier I shall feel. It's getting on my nerves. I'd better go to mother now and calm her down."

We rose and Nessa turned to me with a mischievous smile. "You'll have me at the wedding, won't you?" she rallied.

"Whose?"

"Why yours, of course."

"Certainly. It couldn't take place without you," I replied, laughing, but with a look which made her rather sorry she'd chipped me.

"Why not?" asked Rosa stolidly. Her humour was only Teutonic. "You don't expect me to be present, I hope?"

"What do you say, Miss Caldicott?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Rosa doesn't understand such stupid jokes. Good-night, Herr Lassen." She spoke indifferently, but there was a little pressure of the hand which sent me off home feeling mighty pleased with myself and thinking a lot more about her than the new complications, and so nearly brought me to grief.

It was a dark night, the streets were deserted, and I was plunging along castle-building on the foundation of that hand-pressure when, as I was taking a short cut through a square, a drunken man ran up behind, and lurched into me. He cursed me for getting in his way, and tried to close with me and, before I could shake him off, two others appeared, and one of them aimed a blow at my head with his stick.

Luckily there was just time for me to wriggle out of the way and let the first man have the benefit of the blow. It caught him full on the head, and down he went in a heap. The other two were so astounded by this that they hesitated long enough to give me a chance to attack in my turn. I went for the ruffian who had struck at me, bashed him under the chin hard enough to send him staggering back tripping into the gutter, and was ready for number three. But there was no fight left in him, and he bolted.

His companion in the gutter scrambled to his feet, but his stick had flown out of his hand in the fall, and the moment he found he had to deal with me alone