The Man Without a Memory by Arthur W. Marchmont (digital e reader .TXT) 📕

"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.

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