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

How Hoffnung's people could have got on the track of my not being Jimmy, baffled me utterly. But they clearly had; so there was no use in wasting time worrying over it. I did worry over it, however, as well as over every other detail of the job, and continued to ask myself all sorts of unanswerable questions for the rest of the journey.

Hoffnung looked at his watch, shovelled his papers back into their case, and looked across at me. "About ten minutes now only," he said. "Have you slept?"

I all but gave myself away by blurting out the fact that I never slept in trains, but checked the words in time. "Dozed a bit," I said.

"You look fresh and fit enough," he replied, as if the fact rather justified his suspicions of me, "Wonderful after what you've gone through. You must be as hard as nails. Military training, I suppose."

Neat; but I didn't tumble in. "Have I had any?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and squinted at me with a suggestive smile. Then he grew earnest. "We won't have a scene at the station. We'd better wait till most of the people have got away, and you'll give me your word of honour not to attempt to get away or anything of the sort?"

"What the deuce good would that be? Of course I shan't make a fool of myself in any such fashion. If I'm the man you call the Englishman, well, I am, that's all."

"You have all an Englishman's coolness."

"Then perhaps I am English," I said with a shrug.

"We'll hope not, at any rate;" but it was clear he was fast making up his mind that I was. After a pause he added: "When the crowd has cleared off, we'll walk together to the barrier, and my men will be behind us. We shall find the von Reblings there."

"And if we don't?"

"Oh, I'll see that you're taken care of for the night; but they'll be there to a certainty."

I don't deny that when the train stopped at the platform and we stayed in the carriage while the other travellers cleared away, I had more than a little trouble to maintain what he had termed an Englishman's coolness. But my anxiety didn't show in my face.

Nessa's fate as well as my own depended upon what occurred in the next few minutes at the barrier; and I think that if it had been practicable to have choked Hoffnung, and his men, into insensibility, I should have been sorely tempted to make the attempt.

But the thought of Nessa made me keep my end up; there was nothing for it but to face the music; and when at last he rose to leave the carriage, all I did was to yawn and stretch myself and say that I should be jolly glad to get to bed.

"What a magnificent station!" I exclaimed, stopping on the platform to look about me as if that was the one subject which interested me at the moment.

Then I went on with him, my eyes fixed on a little knot of people at the barrier on whose words and acts my life not improbably depended.

I remember a little commonplace incident in Hyde Park one bank holiday which made me smile at the time. Three children were scuffling and squabbling over the division of some sweets when the mother, a kindly-looking soul, came promptly and settled the matter in a somewhat Spartan fashion. She scolded the kids, smacked them impartially, and then snatched the sweets and shied them away. Loud yells followed, of course, and repenting her haste, she kissed and hugged her little brood, immediately produced a bigger bag of sweets and in this way pacified them all.

This has nothing to do with my experience in Berlin, except to serve as a crude illustration of how the fates dealt with me. Just when Hoffnung's story had thoroughly shaken me up and prepared me to face the worst possible, the pendulum swung right over to my side and the fates handed out the bigger bag of sweets.

In other words I was at once recognized as Johann Lassen by the Countess von Rebling.

There were several circumstances to account for her mistake. For one, my bride that was to be was not present: I learnt the reason afterwards; and only her son Hans was with her, a lad who had never seen me. The old lady was, of course, prepared to meet me; she saw me in Hoffnung's company; then just as I reached the barrier the big arc lamps in the station almost went out for a few seconds, leaving the place in comparative gloom; and lastly, being a tender-hearted little woman, her eyes were full of tears and no doubt blurred her sight.

"My poor dear Johann!" she cried, throwing her arms round my neck and giving way to her mingled sympathy for my sufferings and joy at seeing me safe and sound. Then she called to her son, and after I had been kissed by him, she clung to me and could not make enough of me, so that even Hoffnung had to be satisfied.

"You are quite sure that this is your nephew, Countess?" he asked.

"Sure? Of course I am. Whatever do you mean, Heinrich?" she cried in amazement.

He explained my loss of memory; but the only effect was to increase her concern on my account and to make her hug me closer to her side, with many endearing expressions of affection and compassion.

I felt an abominable hypocrite at having to allow her to mislead herself, but the thought of Nessa's plight made it impossible for me to undeceive her; and we all went to the carriage which was in waiting, the Countess clinging to my arm and pressing close to me.

Hoffnung was very decent about it. As I was stepping into the carriage, he held out his hand. "I hope you will believe that I am sincere in saying how glad I am to find I was wrong, Herr Lassen," he said with what seemed like genuine cordiality; and of course I wrung his hand and said something appropriate.

Why my arrival should have affected the dear little lady so deeply I did not know; but during the drive to her house she could do nothing but press my hand in both of hers and murmur words of delight at seeing me again, mingled with sympathy with my misfortunes. Again the very dim light in the carriage stood my friend; and by the time she reached home she was thoroughly convinced that I was her nephew.

I had still to meet the daughter; but to my relief she was not at home. A meal was in readiness for me, and as I eat it, the Countess sat and feasted her eyes on me, noting the differences which, as she thought, time had effected in my looks. But these did not shake her conviction.

"You are very much changed, Johann; but of course, you would be in all these years. It must be ten quite since you were here. But you are just what I expected you would be, although not so much like your father as I looked for," she said, and then drew attention in some detail to the points of difference. I learnt then that the upper part of my face, shape of head, forehead and eyebrows, and nose had "changed less" than the lower part.

Then the son gave me a rather nasty jar. "You're not a bit like that photograph you sent over to Rosa, cousin, is he, mother? She'll jump a bit when she sees you."

"Photograph? Did I send one?" I asked.

"Don't worry Johann, Hans," said his mother, frowning at him, and he coloured and collapsed with a muttered "I forgot."

"You did send one, dear," she said to me. "It was when you had a beard and moustache, and of course that hid the lower part of your face." I breathed a little more freely. "I think Rosa will be surprised when she sees you; you're so much better looking than you promised to be. I suppose you don't remember sending the photograph?" she asked with nervous wistfulness.

I could truthfully say I did not; and in this way the talk proceeded until I obtained a really good description of myself as well as many details about my past. Lassen's engagement to the daughter was, as Hoffnung had said, the result of a family arrangement; one of those silly wills which left a fortune to the two on condition that they married. They had not seen him since he left Göttingen ten years before; during the whole of that time he had been out of the country; and was now coming back to marry his bride-elect.

The kind-hearted old soul hadn't a word to say against him; but Hans let drop one or two remarks which led me to think I was not likely to receive a very cordial welcome from his sister. Anxious to know all I could, I pleaded great fatigue as soon as I had finished eating and asked to be allowed to go to bed. They both went up with me and I managed to keep the son while I undressed.

He was rather an awkward youth, about seventeen, totally unlike his mother who might have sat as model for a delicate Dresden china figure. On the other hand he was fleshy, dark, and rather pudgy-featured; but I praised his figure, belauded his apparent strength, and generally played on his obvious vanity and wish to be considered a grown man.

"We must be the best of friends, Hans," I declared heartily.

He blushed with pleasure. "I should like it. You look awfully strong, cousin," he replied, looking at my biceps.

"You'll make a far stronger man than I am." It was as welcome as jam on a trench crust ten days old; and I kept at it until I felt I could safely lead round to the subject of his sister and learn how the wind blew in that quarter.

"Of course Rosa's a good sort in lots of ways, but she's getting so bossy," he declared boyishly. "She's the eldest for one thing, and then, you know, she's come in for old Aunt Margarita's fortune, and—well, she likes to run things, and I don't like it."

"A man can't be expected to," I agreed with an encouraging smile.

"That's just it. She thinks a fellow's never grown up. I can stand it from mother; but Rosa won't understand that six years' difference is one thing when a fellow's a kid of ten and another when he's nearly eighteen. I shall get my commission in another month or two, you know."

I made a note of the fact that my "betrothed" was about four and twenty and inclined to be "bossy," and let him rattle on about the army, a subject of which he was very full.

"Are you going to join your regiment, cousin?" he asked presently.

I looked appropriately blank and gestured.

"Oh, I forgot," he exclaimed, blushing again. "But can't you remember anything?" he asked, gathering courage for the question.

I shook my head and looked worried and perplexed.

"You don't mind my asking that question?"

"Not a bit. Of course I want to hit on something that will wake up my memory."

"Herr Hoffnung said something about your not wanting to go to the war and that you were joining the Secret Service; and Rosa was just mad about it. She loathes the idea; but there, I don't suppose she'll care so much if——" He stopped short in some confusion.

"If what? Out with it, my dear fellow."

"I don't think I'd better tell you. For one reason because you're——" and he pulled up again.

"Because I've lost my memory, do you mean?"

"I don't know. She's awfully funny sometimes, but I did mean that. I was going to say—you won't give me away to her if I tell you?"

"Of course not. Aren't we two going