Outside Hasse's door the entire pension was already standing—Erna Bonig in her bright dragon-kimono, with red hair; the stamp-collecting accountant in smoking jacket of military cut; Orlow, pale and calm, just returned from a tea-dancing; Georg, timidly knocking and calling Hasse in a subdued voice; and lastly Frida, squinting with excitement, fear, and curiosity.
"How long have you been knocking, Georg?" I asked.
"Over a quarter of an hour," Frida, a bright crimson, immediate burst out, "and he is home, he hasn't been outside once, not since midday, only running around all the . time, everlastingly backwards and forward, and then it was quiet."
"The key's stuck on the inside," said Georg. "It's locked."
I looked at Frau Zalewski.
"We must knock the key out and open.
Have you a second key?"
"I'll get the bunch," announced Frida, unusually ready to assist. "Perhaps one of them will fit."
I got a piece of wire and with it turned the key into the straight and jabbed it out of the lock.
It fell with a clatter to the floor on the other side.
Frida screamed and put her hands over her face.
"You get out of the road, as far away as you can," said I to her, trying the keys.
One of them fitted.
I unlocked and opened the door.
The room lay in semi-darkness and at a first glance nothing was to be seen.
The two beds gleamed grey-white, the chairs were empty, the cupboard doors shut.
"There he is!" hissed Frida, who had pushed her way forward again, over my shoulder.
Her onion breath blew hot past my cheek. "There behind, at the window."
"No," said Orlow, who had advanced swiftly a few paces into the room and come back again.
He bumped into me, reached for the handle and pulled the door to. Then he turned to the others. "You had better go.
It may not be good to see." He spoke slowly, in his harsh, Russian German, and remained standing across the door.
"O God!" stammered Frau Zalewski and stepped back.
Erna Bonig also stepped back a few paces.
Only Frida tried to push past and get hold of the handle.
Orlow pushed her away.
"It really is best," said he once more.
"Sir!" snorted the accountant suddenly, drawing himself up. "What a liberty!
For a foreigner!"
Orlow looked at him unmoved.
"Foreigner?" said he. "Foreigner doesn't signify here.
Doesn't arise—"
"Dead, eh?" hissed Frida.
"Frau Zalewski," said I, "I agree it would be best if only you and perhaps Orlow and myself stayed here."
"Telephone for a doctor, immediately," said Orlow.
Georg already had the receiver off.
The whole affair had lasted only five seconds.
"I'm stopping," announced the accountant, red as a beetroot. "As a German citizen I have the right—"
Orlow gave a shrug and opened the door again.
Then he switched on the electric light.
With a scream the two women started back.
With blue-black face, black tongue between the teeth, Hasse was hanging by the window.
"Cut him down," I cried.
"No use," said Orlow slowly, harsh and sorrowful. "I know that—this face—dead, some hours already—"
"We could try at least—"
"Better not. Let the police come first."
At that moment the door bell rang.
The doctor who lived near by was there.
He took one glance at the thin, broken body.
"Nothing to be done now," said he. "Still, we have to attempt artificial respiration.
Ring the police at once and give me a knife."