The Berlin Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

this joke into German. Herr Schmidt, who clearly didn’t understand it, did not even bother to pretend to be amused. He gave me a private smile, however, which invited me to join him in tolerant contemptuous patronage of his employer’s attempts at humour. I didn’t respond. I had taken a dislike to Schmidt already. He saw this, and, at the moment, I was pleased that he saw it.
    “Can I speak to you alone a moment?” he said to Mr. Norris, in a tone which was obviously intended to insult me. His tie, collar and lounge suit were as neat as ever. I could see no sign whatever of the violent handling he had apparently just received.
    “Yes. Er—yes. Certainly. Of course.” Mr. Norris’ tone was petulant but meek. “You’ll excuse me, my dear boy, a moment? I hate to keep my guests waiting, but this litttle matter is rather urgent.”
    He hurried across the sitting-room and disappeared through a third door, followed by Schmidt. Schmidt was going to tell him the details of the row, of course. I considered the possibility of eaves-dropping, but decided that it would be too risky. Anyhow, I should be able to get it out of Mr. Norris one day, when I knew him better. Mr. Norris did not give one the impression of being a discreet man.
    I looked round me and found that the room in which I had all this time been standing was a bedroom. It was not very large, and the available space was almost entirely occupied* by a double bed, a bulky wardrobe and an elaborate dressing-table with a winged mirror, on which were ranged bottles of perfume, lotions, antiseptics, pots of face cream, skin food, powder and ointment enough to stock a chemist’s shop. I furtively opened a drawer in the table. I found nothing in it but two lipsticks and an eyebrow pencil. Before I could investigate further, I heard the door into the sitting-room open.
    Mr. Norris re-entered fussily. “And now, after this most regrettable interlude, let us continue our personally conducted tour of the royal apartments. Before you, you behold my chaste couch; I had it specially made for me in London. German beds are so ridiculously small, I always think. It’s fitted with the best spiral springs. As you observe, I’m conservative enough to keep to my English sheets and blankets. The German feather-bags give me the most horrible nightmares.”
    He talked rapidly with a great show of animation, but I saw at once that the conversation with his secretary had depressed him. It seemed more tactful not to refer again to the stranger’s visit. Mr. Norris evidently wanted the subject to be dropped. Fishing a key out of his waistcoat pocket, he unlocked and threw open the door of the wardrobe.
    “I’ve always made it a rule to have a suit for every day of the week. Perhaps you’ll tell me I’m vain, but you’d be surprised if you know what it has meant to me, at critical moments of my life, to be dressed exactly in accordance with my mood. It gives one such confidence, I think.”
    Beyond the bedroom was a dining-room.
    “Please admire the chairs,” said Mr. Norris, and added—rather strangely as I thought at the time: “I may tell you that this suite has been valued at four thousand marks.”
    From the dining-room, a passage led to the kitchen, where I was introduced to a dour-faced young man who was busy preparing the tea.
    “This is Hermann, my major-domo. He shares the distinction, with a Chinese boy I had years ago in Shanghai, of being the best cook I have ever employed.”
    “What were you doing in Shanghai?”
    Mr. Norris looked vague. “Ah. What is one ever doing anywhere? Fishing in troubled waters, I suppose one might call it. Yes… I’m speaking now, mind you, of nineteen hundred and three. Things are very different nowadays, I’m told.”
    We returned to the sitting-room, followed by Hermann with the tray.
    “Well, well,” observed Mr. Norris, taking his cup, “we live in stirring times; tea-stirring times.”
    I grinned awkwardly. It was only