"He was that."
I gave her the address of the District Police and told her it would be closed to-day.
I thought it better she should not go there at once.
She had had enough for to-day.
When she had gone Frau Zalewski came out of her sitting room.
"Is there no one here but me, then?" I asked, furious with myself.
"Only Herr Georg.
What did she say?"
"Nothing." "So much the better."
"All depends.
Sometimes it isn't better."
"I've no pity for her," declared Frau Zalewski energetically. "Not the least."
"Pity is the most useless article in the world," said I irritably. "It's the reverse side of gloating, you ought to know that.
What's the time now?"
"Quarter to seven."
"I want to telephone Fraulein Hollmann at seven o'clock.
But so that nobody hears.
Is that possible?"
"There's nobody in, except Herr Georg.
I've sent Frida off already.
If you like you could sit in the kitchen.
The cord reaches just that far."
"Good."
I knocked on Georg's door.
It was a long time since I had been to see him.
He was sitting at his desk and looked damned bad.
About him lay a pile of torn-up paper.
"Day, Georg," said I, "what are you doing?"
"Stocktaking," he replied with a faint smile. "Good occupation for Christmas."
I stooped to look at one of the bits of paper.
It was a college notebook with chemical formulae.
"Why this?" I asked.
"There's no object any more, Bob."
He looked pretty transparent.
His ears were like wax.
"What have "you had to eat to-day?" I asked.
"What does it matter?
It's not that, anyway.
Not food.
But I simply can't go on any more.
I must give up."
"Is that very bad?"
"Yes," said he.
"Georg," I replied calmly, "look at me now.
Do you suppose I didn't once want to be something more than pianist in a whore shop, in the Cafe International?"
He kneaded his hands about.
"I know, Bob.
But that doesn't help me.
For me it was everything.
And now I see there's no object in it.