Part 5

“No, I don’t think so either,” said Olga quickly. But after a pause she added reflectively, almost as if it hurt her, “But understandable. If I wanted to keep anything secret, my dear child, I would do it so artfully that you and your silly little tricks would never even find it out.”

It was said in a tone of such scornful superiority that Myra blenched. She felt the truth of those words, she felt that Olga was as if surrounded by a wall, one through which she, stupid, little, Myra, could never penetrate to the heart of this being, even by tracking her like a criminal and reading her letters.

It seemed as if Olga sensed Myra’s dumb terror. For she said suddenly in her deep, warm voice, “For the rest, I never conceal things from you. Nothing that could be of any interest to you. I write no love letters and receive none. But if there is ever anything that you are itching to find out, ask me—it is the easiest way.”

Her kindly, cordial tone did Myra no end of good, ten-fold good after all the anxiety she had endured. She made an involuntary movement. A feeling that welled up hotly within her drove her to Olga, to kiss her hands in gratitude. Olga saw or sensed this emotion—and averted it. It was a barely perceptible twitching of her eyebrows that frightened Myra back and held her spellbound where she stood.

It was not until Myra had put on her hat and was going that Olga asked suddenly, “Will you do me a favor, Myra?”

“Anything,” said Myra with conviction.

“But this is no easy task—I....”

“So much the better!”

“No, no, it’s nothing heroic in the romantic style. Something quite unpleasant in a paltry way.” She bit her lip and hesitated. “I should prefer to do it in any other way, but I don’t know how. I want you to do something that you have certainly never done before in all your life—to pawn something for me.”

Myra broke into a laugh. “There you underestimate me considerably. The pawn-shop is one of the commonest of my childhood memories.”

“Why, Myra!”

“It’s a long story. I must tell it to you some time. But first you tell me what it is you want.”

“I want you to take this and pawn it for me.”

With a sudden gesture Olga swept the cigarette case from the desk and gave it to Myra, who took it, shocked, in both hands.

“But you can’t do that, Olga!”

Olga gazed out the window. “Don’t discuss it, please,” she said in a hard voice, without turning her head. “I alone know what I can, and what I must do!”

Myra was silent. There was no contradicting that tone. But she was not convinced.

* * * * *

Myra kept remembering the tender gesture with which Olga had once pressed the cigarette case to her cheek. And then she recalled the pawn-broker’s hairy hand with its flattened, dirt-rimmed nails. No, she could not lay the scorpion in those hands.

She took the case to a jeweler and had it appraised. She did not have enough money in her possession to accomplish the pious deception which she had in mind.

But she knew how to remedy that. Not in vain had she been Frieda Ellert’s pupil. She knew very well how to get at the silverware, and which cases contained the most valuable pieces.

As Myra stole secretly to the side-board, she thought of a dozen years before and smiled. It was no longer as exciting as it had seemed then. Although, if Aunt Emily were to discover it, it would lead to precisely the same unpleasantness. Her aunt was prepared to call in a psychiatrist again. What a ridiculous farce the whole business really was. In a year she would be of age, and free to dispose of her grandmother’s legacy, and yet for the sake of a hundred marks today, she had to steal in her own father’s house!

“Will you let me have the ticket?” asked Olga when they met.

“The ticket?” Myra grew a trifle embarrassed and rummaged in her pocket. “Yes, just a minute! What did I do with it? Don’t worry, it’s here somewhere. But first I’ll count out the money!”

“Not necessary,” said Olga emphatically. “The money is just where it belongs. No scenes, please! I have given you no right to insult me.”

“I don’t understand,” said Myra disconcerted. “What does it all mean?”

“It means that I would far rather sit at a street corner and beg than to be obligated to you for money. I sent you to the pawn-shop simply so that the money would be given into your own hands. Otherwise, I should have had to force it on you, and I hate such scenes. Now that’s enough, I don’t want to hear another word about it!”

“But....”

“Not another word, I said. As for the ticket, you can keep it, and redeem it for me later. I would rather not see in whose hands it had been. I’ll give you the money for it the first chance I get.” She laughed quickly. “When, the gods alone know! Come, let’s play a game of chess. I’ll concede you a castle.”

VI

“You know,” said Olga the next time they met, “I have an idea. Don’t you think I could give instruction in languages, Myra? Five lessons every day, at two marks a lesson, makes ten marks, and one can certainly live on that if one manages very carefully.”

“A wonderful idea,” said Myra angrily. “In the first place, I see you living on ten marks a day. And in the second place, I should never see you at all any more.”

“What on earth are you complaining about!” said Olga, laughing. “You spend every day God gives us from morning till noon and from noon till night with me!”

“If it’s too much,” said Myra soberly and somewhat hurt, “all you have to do is say so.”

“Never fear,” Olga consoled her, “I can take care of myself. If I want to be rid of anybody, I am perfectly explicit!”

“Thank heaven. If only I can depend on that. But it is I who have the idea. We’ll combine pleasure with profit. You give me five hours instruction in foreign languages, and I will have my father pay you for it—at his own express request.”

* * * * *

But it did not go quite as smoothly as Myra had anticipated. Aunt Emily herself went to look for language teachers, and unearthed a pair of very dignified elderly ladies. A sixty-four-year-old professor was, in her opinion, questionable because he was unmarried. She took Myra herself to introduce her niece.

As a result, Myra had the painful task of declining their instruction.

But at least, she succeeded in getting her father to give the money for the classes directly to her instead of sending a money order or having the bank arrange it.

Olga was very exact with the lessons. She insisted on a conscientious punctuality and, as a teacher, was strict and pedantic. Myra was a zealous student in order to live up to her teacher’s good opinion.

So far everything went as planned. Except that Olga did not think to economize and live on the money from the lessons.

* * * * *

Peculiar happenings multiplied.

One day Uncle George bobbed up suddenly in the city. Myra had always had a special predilection for Uncle George. He was really the only one of her relatives whose stately and distinguished appearance, definitely masculine manner and a certain matter-of-fact seriousness pleased her and even compelled her respect.

He greeted Myra in a peculiar way, with a conscious affability that seemed to say: “I’m really quite innocent, there’s no reason for you to wonder why I am here or what it has to do with you.”

Myra’s delicate perceptive apparatus instantly registered suspicion. Her suspicion was intensified when she heard the key grind as all three—Father, Aunt Emily and Uncle George—withdrew into the study.

So they were locking themselves in? What might that mean? Did it concern the servants or her?

She had never taken any particular interest in family conferences. But the cautious turning of that key aroused an uneasy curiosity in her. She sauntered past the door several times. But all she could hear was an indistinct murmuring. No doubt about it, they were whispering.

Myra longed to escape the oppressive and unfriendly atmosphere of the house.

After dinner, during which only Uncle George had spoken, extolling in loud and well-rounded periods the beauties of the little city and the virtues of its children, Myra finally ventured a question.

“You are all going to sleep after dinner, aren’t you? Then may I spend an hour with my friend before tea?”

A general silence followed. All three looked at one another, nobody looked at Myra and nobody answered.

Her father cast an uneasy glance that seemed to beseech succor, from one to the other. Uncle George drummed on the table and looked expectant. Aunt Emily cleared her throat and distorted the corners of her tightly compressed mouth in a sweetish grimace that was intended for a friendly smile.

Nobody spoke. Aunt Emily did not wish to obtrude herself. She withheld her answer, waiting to see if either of the men would reply. But they did not look as if they intended to break the painful silence within the next few moments.

They had left it up to her, hence she must speak. She drew herself up and made a face whose wrinkles were intended to express profound sympathy and serious concern. But to Myra it seemed as if those sharp little eyes were flashing, as if that rigidly erect lean body was trembling with malicious joy.

“I guess you will have to omit that today, for a change, my dear child,” she said in a gentle tone, but her voice was as sharp as a knife. “We are expecting a visit this afternoon which concerns you most particularly.”

“Me?” asked Myra, and glanced at her father.

But Rudloff veiled his eyes and endeavored to control a nervous twitching of his lips. He did not answer.

“Yes, you!” said Aunt Emily as affably as if she were announcing a great pleasure to Myra.

At that moment, Myra felt that danger was threatening her. She felt as if she were caught in the fine meshes of a net, which would be drawn over her head the next moment by a slight twitch of Aunt Emily’s bony fingers.

She felt as if all the doors were locked and guarded, as if nothing could save her now, but at this very moment, without hesitation, without a second thought, to jump out the window, and to run, as long as her breath lasted, to rush in mad flight through the streets to Olga.

She turned pale and started to run. It was not even a start, it was only the will to move that thrilled her muscles. But Uncle George must have perceived it.

“Now, no, Myra!” he said in a somewhat forced tone of kindness and assurance. “Just keep cool, my lass! Nobody’s going to do anything to you. You must simply have confidence in us and say to yourself that everything that happens is happening, in the last analysis, for your own good. You must try to help us a little in our efforts, which are motivated wholly by a regard for your welfare, and not make our task more difficult by any childish spleen. Thus by a mutual effort we will get over this period, and later on you will be very grateful to us for having used a loving coercion to put you on the right track. You’ll look back on this period as on a bad dream of no significance for your later life.”

This solemn pronouncement increased Myra’s vague uneasiness to all but insane terror. It was all so mysterious and incomprehensible. She knew that Aunt Emily was only waiting for a question in order to gush forth in a torrent of words. Therefore she did not ask any. But what had happened? What was about to happen?

“Out the window! Out the window!” was the only thing she could think of. But the moment she heard the door-bell ring, she shrank within herself, for she knew that it was too late.

The maid came slinking in, as if she were entering a sick-chamber, and handed Franz Rudloff a card.

His hand trembled as he took it from the little silver tray. He had to support himself against the table in rising. His face was distorted, drawn.

“Have you taken the Professor to my room? I will be there in a moment.”

Hastily he poured himself a swallow of water. His stiff, starched cuff rattled against the carafe.

He went out, making a visible effort not to stagger, and to hold himself upright.

The three who were left sat on in silence. But Myra could not bear to remain at the table. When she rose, Uncle George made a hasty gesture as if to detain her. But she did not go to the door, she would make no further effort to escape. She went to the window and gazed through the drawn lace curtains down at the street.

Monotonous cries ascended of children at play. A delivery truck drew up and stopped at the house opposite. The driver’s helper jumped out, unlocked the back, loaded himself with parcels and closed the doors again with a sharp bang.

Every movement, every sound impressed itself with unusual distinctness on Myra’s brain. She was aware of nothing, nothing, but the sharp perception of commonplace things.

The door opened behind her back. She heard her father’s restrained and rather hoarse voice saying, “Emily, will you be so kind as to come here a moment?” Then the scraping of a chair and the rustle of skirts. Myra did not turn.

The door closed again.

Now she was alone with Uncle George. Now she might have asked him for some kind of explanation. Of these three individuals he was by far the most sensible. Ah, but what use was it? He, too, was a stranger to her, an utter stranger.

“Mother!” she thought as something like a convulsive sob rose in her throat. “Dear, good mother, why did you leave me alone, all alone in this world?”

When the door next opened, and her father appeared and said nervously, “Please, come with me, Myra,” she experienced a feeling almost of joy—as a man who has studied well rejoices at an examination, or a brave man at a battle.

She walked with a perfectly firm step through the room, smiling a superior, rather disdainful, smile.

At her entrance, a slight man with sharp features and piercing eyes rose from her father’s chair. In his well-trimmed pointed black beard several premature white hairs were showing.

As no one appeared to be going to introduce him, he murmured his own name, with a slight bow, while casting at the others a glance that resembled a command for instant withdrawal.

Rudloff was visibly relieved, but Aunt Emily hesitated and departed grudgingly. Even at the door, she cast back a long and curious glance, but the Professor did not utter a word, did not make a gesture until she had closed the door.

Then he drew up a chair. “Please be seated.”

Myra sat down obediently.

The man in front of her leaned forward somewhat. “And now, my child,” he said in a soft, almost ingratiating voice, “tell me that you will trust me.”

Myra drew herself up stiffly. “I certainly shall not, Professor!” she said quietly.

The man drew back a little.

“What does that mean?” he asked in surprise.

“It means,” said Myra while her heart throbbed as if it would burst, “that my Aunt called you in, and that I distrust everything she does. Probably she intends to shut me up in an insane asylum, and your function is to declare me mentally deranged. She held a similar party for me when I was quite a little girl. But if you are a psychiatrist, you know that the feeling that one is under observation is capable of inducing something resembling insanity, even in the most normal of individuals. And you will make allowance for that in my case.”

The physician smiled—a shrewd smile.

“I have not the slightest reason to question your exceptional mental ability. On the contrary, nobody questions it. And neither has anyone the slightest intention of shutting you up in an insane asylum. I came here to talk with you a little, because of certain scientific and human interests. May I ask you a few questions?”

“Certainly!” said Myra, “I probably will answer your questions more exactly if you will permit me to smoke a cigarette.”

“Gladly!” said the Professor obligingly.

Myra took the cigarette case from the table and offered him one. He accepted and while he scratched his lighter and held the little flame for her he asked in a casual tone, “You are a confirmed smoker, are you not?”

“I got into the habit studying,” she said. “It helps me concentrate. And as I can’t rid myself yet of the suspicion that you will construe some stupid answer into feeble-mindedness....”

The Professor laughed. “I would have a hard time doing that. However, you are right, one can chat much more easily over a cigarette. But tell me now, what was this affair you mentioned? What kind of wicked designs did your estimable Aunt have on you when you were a little girl?”

“Oh,” said Myra, “she called in a children’s psychiatrist because I took the silver from the side-board.”

“Aha!” said the Professor with an interested and amused smile. “Why did you do that? Did you like silver?”

“No, I pawned it!”

“Pawned it!” The Professor laughed aloud. “How did such an idea ever get into your child’s head?”

“It was not my own,” said Myra seriously. From the hazy past the image of Frieda rose clearly and distinctly. “My governess led me to do it. I was completely under her influence, which was not a very good one.”

“Ah!” said the Professor with mild astonishment. “Are you easily influenced? You do not look it. Probably there is nothing on earth that could make you do such a thing now!”

“The Devil!” said Myra in sudden terror. “I forgot to redeem that stupid silver!”

The Professor was tremendously amused, but he did not let her see it.

“What,” he asked, “the silver you pawned ten years ago? It certainly must be lost by now!”

“No,” said Myra, frankly, “that which I just pawned. I clean forgot it!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the Professor amiably, “it has already been redeemed.”

For a moment Myra did not quite comprehend. “How can that be? Nobody knew about it.”

“The ticket was found in your pocket.”

“Found!” Myra sprang up. “Found? That is to say, that that shameless person has been going through my things again! Oh, what a pity that I did not catch her at it—I think I would have throttled her with my bare hands!”

“Please sit down,” said the Professor, not sharply, but so imperatively that Myra obeyed.

“If by ‘that person’ you mean your Aunt, I should urge her, as a man and a physician, to supervise you more closely than is customary among adult human beings.”

“I am an adult human being,” said Myra angrily.

“You are a child,” said the physician mildly, “a child that does not even suspect the danger it is getting into, but who will be very grateful to us all once it has grown up and learned to understand from what we protected it.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” said Myra, in an icy voice. “I am not in any danger. But if I were, I can protect myself.”

“As long as you are not of age, you cannot refuse our helping hand.”

It sounded kindly, but quite definite. “I question whether you would find in yourself the necessary strength to break with the friend who is at present influencing you.”

The blood rushed suddenly to Myra’s heart. She felt that she had turned as white as snow.

“What do you know about my friend?” she asked bluntly. She felt as if she could not breathe.

The physician smiled a superior smile. “In any case, more than you.”

“I doubt that,” Myra interrupted in a hard, disdainful tone. But his composure was not to be ruffled.

“I know,” he said imperturbably, but firmly, “that you are under the influence of a woman who can do you a great deal of harm. I understand you quite well. You _are_ a child. I will not deny that the lady possesses intelligence and charm. You are proud of this friendship and would be willing to sacrifice anything for her. You would let this friendship start you on a path of crime....”

“Oh, bosh!” said Myra.

“I understand you to be contradicting me. But just let your cool intelligence come into play for a moment and think logically. You purloin silver from your parents’ side-board. You ask your father for money for lessons and spend it on automobile excursions with your friend, on champagne and tickets for the Opera. You pay your friend’s dress-maker’s bills with money that you have come by in irregular ways. Yes, my child, don’t you see yourself what an abyss you are heading for?”

How did they know all that? As if lit up by a flash of lightning, the whole chain of events was suddenly clear to Myra. They had had a detective watch every step she took. Wherever she went, strange eyes had been glued to her, strange eyes and Aunt Emily’s notions.

Myra sat quite still and did not stir. She felt as if brutal hands were tearing her clothes from her body piece by piece. Not the hands of this stranger; it was Aunt Emily’s hands that were doing it, it was Aunt Emily’s face she saw before her, wreathed in a mocking smirk and slavering with foul enjoyment. Slowly, slowly, Myra’s fingers clenched to a fist. She bowed her head; the corners of her mouth twitched and she swallowed hard.

Again the Professor’s voice came softly and soothingly. “Just think back on your childhood! Didn’t you love this young woman who influenced you as a child? And aren’t you glad and grateful now that you were separated from her? Well, you will be just as grateful to us later on when you are capable of judging. If you stop to think, you know it now in your heart of hearts. It is you who are the true friend. It is you who love, who sacrifice yourself. It is you who are used, are treated as a plaything, or denied on occasion, and sooner or later tossed aside. Do you imagine that this is the first case I have seen? Meanwhile you will be ruined for the rest of your life, made sick in body and soul, robbed of every possibility of happiness. What is left for you? According to your capacities—death or suicide. I have seen terrible tragedies come about in this way....”