I knocked at Georg Block's.
A strip of light was visible under his door.
He was cramming.
"Come, Georg—eats," said I.
He looked up.
His pale face flushed.
"I'm not hungry."
He thought it was from pity. So he did not want to.
"Well, come and have a look. It'll go bad otherwise.
Do me the favour."
' As we went down the passage I noticed that Erna Bonig's door was open a chink.
Behind it I heard a light breathing.
"Aha," thought I, and heard the lock turn cautiously at the Hasses' and the door there likewise give a centimeter.
The entire pension was on the watch, apparently, for my cousin.
In the harsh top light of my digs stood Frau Zalewski's brocade armchairs.
The Hasses' lamp made a fine display, the pineapple shone, the super leberwurst, the salmon, the bottle of sherry . . . When I and the speechless Georg were sailing well in, there was a knock on the door.
I knew what was coming.
"Get ready, Georg," I whispered, and called "Come in!"
The door opened and, bursting with curiosity, in walked Frau Zalewski.
For the first time in my life she brought the post herself—a circular exhorting me to eat more food.
She was got up like a fairy—a real great lady out of the good old days, lace dress with fringed shawl and brooch with the portrait of the late Zalewski as a pendant.
A sugar-sweet smile suddenly froze on her face; startled, she stared at the embarrassed Georg.
I burst into heartless laughter.
She recovered herself swiftly.
"Aha, put off," said she poisonously.
"True," I agreed, still absorbed in her get-up.
What a mercy the invitation had fallen through!
Mother Zalewski looked at me disparagingly.
"And you can laugh?
I always did say, where others have hearts you have a schnapps bottle."
"A bon mot," I replied. "But won't you do us the honour, Frau Zalewski?"
She hesitated.
But curiosity triumphed, and the hope of learning something yet.
I opened the bottle of sherry.
Later, when all was quiet, I took my coat and a blanket and slipped across the passage to the telephone.
I knelt down in front of the table on which the instrument stood, placed the coat and blanket over my head, lifted the re ceiver and with my left hand held the coat together from below.
Thus I was sure no one could overhear me.
The Pension Zalewski possessed immensely long, inquisitive ears.
I was in luck.
Patricia Hollmann was home.
"Have you been back long from your mysterious interview?" I asked.
"About an hour."
"Pity.
If I had known that—"
She laughed.
"No, it wouldn't have been any use.
I'm in bed and am a bit feverish again.
It's a good thing I got, home early."
"Fever?
What sort of fever?"