I hit him he blinked and seemed to pause. I guessed the reason for that. He had gone through life keeping the crown of the causeway, and nobody had ever stood up to him. He wasn’t a coward by a long chalk, but he was a bully, and had never been struck in his life. He was getting struck now in real earnest, and he didn’t like it. He had lost his bearings and was growing as mad as a hatter.
I kept half an eye on the clock. I was hopeful now, and was looking for the right kind of chance. The risk was that I might tire sooner than him and be at his mercy.
Then I learned a truth I have never forgotten. If you are fighting a man who means to kill you, he will be apt to down you unless you mean to kill him too. Stumm did not know any rules to this game, and I forgot to allow for that. Suddenly, when I was watching his eyes, he launched a mighty kick at my stomach. If he had got me, this yarn would have had an abrupt ending. But by the mercy of God I was moving sideways when he let out, and his heavy boot just grazed my left thigh.
It was the place where most of the shrapnel had lodged, and for a second I was sick with pain and stumbled. Then I was on my feet again but with a new feeling in my blood. I had to smash Stumm or never sleep in my bed again.
I got a wonderful power from this new cold rage of mine. I felt I couldn’t tire, and I danced round and dotted his face till it was streaming with blood. His bulky padded chest was no good to me, so I couldn’t try for the mark.
He began to snort now and his breath came heavily. ‘You infernal cad,’ I said in good round English, ‘I’m going to knock the stuffing out of you,’ but he didn’t know what I was saying.
Then at last he gave me my chance. He half tripped over a little table and his face stuck forward. I got him on the point of the chin, and put every ounce of weight I possessed behind the blow. He crumpled up in a heap and rolled over, upsetting a lamp and knocking a big china jar in two. His head, I remember, lay under the escritoire from which he had taken my passport.
I picked up the key and unlocked the door. In one of the gilded mirrors I smoothed my hair and tidied up my clothes. My anger had completely gone and I had no particular ill-will left against Stumm. He was a man of remarkable qualities, which would have brought him to the highest distinction in the Stone Age. But for all that he and his kind were back numbers.
I stepped out of the room, locked the door behind me, and started out on the second stage of my travels.
CHAPTER 7
CHRISTMASTIDE
Everything depended on whether the servant was in the hall. I had put Stumm to sleep for a bit, but I couldn’t flatter myself he would long be quiet, and when he came to he would kick the locked door to matchwood. I must get out of the house without a minute’s delay, and if the door was shut and the old man gone to bed I was done.
I met him at the foot of the stairs, carrying a candle.
‘Your master wants me to send off an important telegram. Where is the nearest office? There’s one in the village, isn’t there?’ I spoke in my best German, the first time I had used the tongue since I crossed the frontier.
‘The village is five minutes off at the foot of the avenue,’ he said. ‘Will you be long, sir?’
‘I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour,’ I said. ‘Don’t lock up till I get in.’
I put on my ulster and walked out into a clear starry night. My bag I left lying on a settle in the hall. There was nothing in it to compromise me, but I wished I could have got a toothbrush and some tobacco out of it.
So began one of the craziest escapades you can well imagine. I couldn’t stop to think of the future yet, but must take one step at a time. I ran down the avenue, my feet cracking on the hard snow, planning hard my programme for the next hour.
I found the village—half a dozen houses with one biggish place that looked like an inn. The moon was rising, and as I approached I saw that there was some kind of a store. A funny little two-seated car was purring before the door, and I guessed this was also the telegraph office.
I marched in and told my story to a stout woman with spectacles on her nose who was talking to a young man.
‘It is too late,’ she shook her head. ‘The Herr Burgrave knows that well. There is no connection from here after eight o’clock. If the matter is urgent you must go to Schwandorf.’
‘How far is that?’ I asked, looking for some excuse to get decently out of the shop.
‘Seven miles,’ she said, ‘but here is Franz and the post-wagon. Franz, you will be glad to give the gentleman a seat beside you.’
The sheepish-looking youth muttered something which I took to be assent, and finished off a glass of beer. From his eyes and manner he looked as if he were half drunk.
I thanked the woman, and went out to the car, for I was in a fever to take advantage of this unexpected bit of luck. I could hear the post-mistress enjoining Franz not to keep the gentleman waiting, and presently he came out and flopped into the driver’s seat. We started in a series of voluptuous curves, till his eyes got accustomed to the darkness.
At first we made good going along the straight, broad highway lined with woods on one side and on the other snowy fields melting into haze. Then he began to talk, and, as he talked, he slowed down. This by no means suited my book, and I seriously wondered whether I should pitch him out and take charge of the thing. He was obviously a weakling, left behind in the conscription, and I could have done it with one hand. But by a fortunate chance I left him alone.
‘That is a fine hat of yours, mein Herr,’ he said. He took off his own blue peaked cap, the uniform, I suppose, of the driver of the post-wagon, and laid it on his knee. The night air ruffled a shock of tow-coloured hair.
Then he calmly took my hat and clapped it on his head.
‘With this thing I should be a gentleman,’ he said.
I said nothing, but put on his cap and waited.
‘That is a noble overcoat, mein Herr,’ he went on. ‘It goes well with the hat. It is the kind of garment I have always desired to own. In two days it will be the holy Christmas, when gifts are given. Would that the good God sent me such a coat as yours!’
‘You can try it on to see how it looks,’ I said good-humouredly.
He stopped the car with a jerk, and pulled off his blue coat. The exchange was soon effected. He was about my height, and my ulster fitted not so badly. I put on his overcoat, which had a big collar that buttoned round the neck.
The idiot preened himself like a girl. Drink and vanity had primed him for any folly. He drove so carelessly for a bit that he nearly put us into a ditch. We passed several cottages and at the last he slowed down.
‘A friend of mine lives here,’ he announced. ‘Gertrud would like to see me in the fine clothes which the most amiable Herr has given me. Wait for me, I will not be long.’ And he scrambled out of the car and lurched into the little garden.
I took his place and moved very slowly forward. I heard the door open and the sound of laughing and loud voices. Then it shut, and looking back I saw that my idiot had been absorbed into the dwelling of his Gertrud. I waited no longer, but sent the car forward at its best speed.
Five minutes later the infernal thing began to give trouble—a nut loose in the antiquated steering-gear. I unhooked a lamp, examined it, and put the mischief right, but I was a quarter of an hour doing it. The highway ran now in a thick forest and I noticed branches going off now and then to the right. I was just thinking of turning up one of them, for I had no anxiety to visit Schwandorf, when I heard behind me the sound of a great car driven furiously.
I drew in to the right side—thank goodness I remembered the rule of the road—and proceeded decorously,