may be right, baron, it's a hypothesis and a very bold one, that I admit ..."
"It could be you're right," I said, for I remembered that Eugen Bischoff really was a great lover of Italy and all things Italian. "Your train of thought strikes me as completely logical. You have almost persuaded me."
The engineer smiled. An expression of satisfaction appeared on his face. My admission obviously gave him pleasure.
"I admit that I should have hit on those ideas myself. All honour to your detective acumen. I no longer doubt that you'll discover the identity of the lady to whom I talked on the telephone yesterday before I do."
The smile vanished from his face and furrows appeared on his brow.
"Not much detective acumen will be needed for that, I'm afraid," he said slowly. He raised his hands and dropped them again, and that gesture betrayed a resignation the reason for which I did not understand.
He relapsed into silence. He took a cigarette from his silver cigarette case and held it between his fingers. He was so lost in thought that he forgot to light it.
"You see, baron," he said after a pause, "while I was sitting here waiting for you, I had — it won't be easy to make the association intelligible to you — well, while I was sitting here I was naturally thinking about the lady on the telephone and her really strange reference to the Day of Judgment — I myself don't know how it happened — but suddenly I saw the five hundred dead of the Munho river."
He stared blankly at the cigarette in his hand.
"That is, I didn't see them," he went on. "But something made me think what it would be like if I were confronted with five hundred yellow distorted faces, all of them desperate at the certainty of death, looking at me accusingly ..."
He tried to strike a match, but it broke.
"A childish idea, of course. You're right," he said after a while. "What does that shadowy phrase mean to people of the present day? The Day of Judgment, an empty phrase from the past. God's Judgment Seat. Do those words rouse any feeling in you? Of course when the sound of the Dies Irae resounded from the pulpit your forefathers were stricken with mad terror and went down on their knees. The Yosches" — he suddenly assumed a casual, conversational tone as if what he was talking about, while perhaps not uninteresting, was not of any real importance — ' the Yosches come from a very Catholic area, the Neuburg Palatinate, don't they? I see you're surprised that I know so much about your family background. Don't imagine that I normally take any interest in the genealogy of baronial houses, but one likes to know with whom one is dealing, so last night at the club I looked up the Almanach de Gotha . . . What was I saying? No, I wasn't frightened, no, of course I wasn't, that would have been absurd. All the same, it was a very strange feeling. Brandy is an excellent way of getting rid of troublesome ideas."
His cigarette was alight at last, and he leaned back and blew blue smoke rings into the air, I watched them, and all sorts of ideas came into my head. Suddenly I felt I had found the key to the engineer's strange character. This fair, broad-shouldered giant, this robust and determined man of action, had his heel of Achilles. He had talked about this long-past war experience for the second time in twenty-four hours. He was no drinker, to him drink was merely a sanctuary, a place of brief refuge from a desperate struggle in which he was involved. A burning sense of guilt that would not heal over followed him through the years and gave him no respite. The slightest reminder of it cast him down utterly.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven. The engineer rose to say goodbye.
"I have your word for it, haven't I? You're postponing your trip," he said, and held out his hand.
"What gave you that idea?" I said irritably, for I had not given him any such assurance. "I have not changed my plans. I'm leaving today."
"Is that so?" he exclaimed angrily.
"It could be you're right," I said, for I remembered that Eugen Bischoff really was a great lover of Italy and all things Italian. "Your train of thought strikes me as completely logical. You have almost persuaded me."
The engineer smiled. An expression of satisfaction appeared on his face. My admission obviously gave him pleasure.
"I admit that I should have hit on those ideas myself. All honour to your detective acumen. I no longer doubt that you'll discover the identity of the lady to whom I talked on the telephone yesterday before I do."
The smile vanished from his face and furrows appeared on his brow.
"Not much detective acumen will be needed for that, I'm afraid," he said slowly. He raised his hands and dropped them again, and that gesture betrayed a resignation the reason for which I did not understand.
He relapsed into silence. He took a cigarette from his silver cigarette case and held it between his fingers. He was so lost in thought that he forgot to light it.
"You see, baron," he said after a pause, "while I was sitting here waiting for you, I had — it won't be easy to make the association intelligible to you — well, while I was sitting here I was naturally thinking about the lady on the telephone and her really strange reference to the Day of Judgment — I myself don't know how it happened — but suddenly I saw the five hundred dead of the Munho river."
He stared blankly at the cigarette in his hand.
"That is, I didn't see them," he went on. "But something made me think what it would be like if I were confronted with five hundred yellow distorted faces, all of them desperate at the certainty of death, looking at me accusingly ..."
He tried to strike a match, but it broke.
"A childish idea, of course. You're right," he said after a while. "What does that shadowy phrase mean to people of the present day? The Day of Judgment, an empty phrase from the past. God's Judgment Seat. Do those words rouse any feeling in you? Of course when the sound of the Dies Irae resounded from the pulpit your forefathers were stricken with mad terror and went down on their knees. The Yosches" — he suddenly assumed a casual, conversational tone as if what he was talking about, while perhaps not uninteresting, was not of any real importance — ' the Yosches come from a very Catholic area, the Neuburg Palatinate, don't they? I see you're surprised that I know so much about your family background. Don't imagine that I normally take any interest in the genealogy of baronial houses, but one likes to know with whom one is dealing, so last night at the club I looked up the Almanach de Gotha . . . What was I saying? No, I wasn't frightened, no, of course I wasn't, that would have been absurd. All the same, it was a very strange feeling. Brandy is an excellent way of getting rid of troublesome ideas."
His cigarette was alight at last, and he leaned back and blew blue smoke rings into the air, I watched them, and all sorts of ideas came into my head. Suddenly I felt I had found the key to the engineer's strange character. This fair, broad-shouldered giant, this robust and determined man of action, had his heel of Achilles. He had talked about this long-past war experience for the second time in twenty-four hours. He was no drinker, to him drink was merely a sanctuary, a place of brief refuge from a desperate struggle in which he was involved. A burning sense of guilt that would not heal over followed him through the years and gave him no respite. The slightest reminder of it cast him down utterly.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven. The engineer rose to say goodbye.
"I have your word for it, haven't I? You're postponing your trip," he said, and held out his hand.
"What gave you that idea?" I said irritably, for I had not given him any such assurance. "I have not changed my plans. I'm leaving today."
"Is that so?" he exclaimed angrily.
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