|
|
|
1.
Eddy wiped away his tears, untied a boat from its moorings and rowed back across the lake. He landed and made straight for his temporary home at Mügli am See, where the populace was still restive after the excitement of the early morning chase. Eddy waved from afar.
"I had him in my hands!" he shouted breathlessly as he approached the crowd. "As I was grappling with him we fell into the lake, and I'm afraid he was a stronger swimmer than me."
They gazed at the brave young Londoner with a mixture of respect and admiration.
"You are a hero," said Grete, giving him one of her eight-inch smiles. "I wasn't the least bit alarmed when I remembered that you were with us."
"I see you have sustained some outward signs of injury," said the coroner, joining them and taking a close look at Eddy's cracked lips. "Lips in that condition are usually excised for histological examination before the public hearing."
"Mr. Rancing," said the police inspector in the cool voice of authority. "Could you give us a description of the miscreant?"
"Certainly. A tall man with a small moustache. There were warts all over his face and a scar on his right arm-pit."
"Any unusual identifying mark?"
"His breath had a strong smell of liquor."
"Nothing unusual about that in these parts, I am afraid," said the inspector, lighting a pipe. He hated pipe-smoking but felt that it was de rigeur for a detective.
"Any other particulars? Initials on shirt? Size of shoes? Strong physique, or weak?"
"I have seldom seen a more muscular burglar," Eddy said. "I can assure you, the man is a Hercules."
"Good. We should be able to track the fellow down with the help of the Aliens Registration Office," declared the inspector confidently.
Eddy said he had no doubt they would. He hastened back to his room, where for the next twenty-five hours he remained in bed. He sneezed continuously and when, towards evening, Frau Victoria, Head Gardener Krüttikofer's wife, brought him a cup of herb-tea, he began to feel very ill indeed.
Eddy was not averse to an adventure, but he had really met with rather more obstacles than he had bargained for in this ghastly hole: it was enough to make even an Arsene Lupin long for a quiet, settled life. Less than two years previously he had courted the daughter of the Dover lighthouse-keeper and had only been able to meet her on stormy nights when the duties of his office kept her father busy. Harrington, the hefty lighthouse-keeper, was a stern and forbidding parent, so that Eddy found himself obliged to learn to interpret the girl's signals in Morse. Between eight and nine o'clock every evening, the light in the small window of the lighthouse parlour would be switched on and off at regular, varied intervals. And on the shore Eddy, as efficient as any Sparks thanks to his sweetheart's coaching, would read the signals: "Dad... on eight-hour duty... Come... Gin running out... You dear..."
Thus had Eddy learned, for love, the art of telegraphy and of climbing lightning conductors. Such experiences had had a romantic flavour all their own. This Swiss adventure was something quite different: here, floor polish was hurled into his face by kitchen boys with pimply noses, people locked him into lumber-rooms, slapped his face and hustled him into cold lakes.
And yet he would have to do something about that Buddha. He lay in bed, convalescing, and plotting another line of attack. At last he conceived a truly brilliant idea; his own genius quite amazed him. In the afternoon, he went to see the local physician, Dr. Rüdiger.
"Glad to meet you, sir," the doctor said. "How do you do. And what brings you to see me?"
"I can get no sleep."
"I'm not surprised. Your host's cats ought to be exterminated!"
"I don't mean that. I suffer from insomnia."
"Ah. H'm. And what are the - er - symptoms?"
Eddy swallowed his annoyance at this display of inanity and said politely that the chief symptom was that he was usually awake when he wanted to be asleep.
"That's rather serious," said the doctor. "You probably suffer from anaemia - hence your nervousness, your hallucination and defective memory."
"I am hoping that you will prescribe some sleeping-pills."
"A very happy idea."
The doctor handed over the prescription, and Eddy paid his fee and departed.
On the way back to the house he went into a confectioner's and bought some cream cakes, knowing that the gluttonous girl was fond of sweets more than anything else. At the appropriate moment, after dinner, when no one else was in the room, he offered her the cakes. As usual, she pretended not to be interested in them and said she would take the rest up to her room and give them to her cats.
Eddy was certain that she would polish them all off while still walking up the stairs. Nor did he guess wrong. He had mixed into the cream some of the crushed sleeping-pills and within one hour, Grete was snoring so loudly that her cats ruffled their hair and arched their backs and huddled together in a corner of her bedroom.
2.
It was a pitch-dark night with dirty weather blowing up.
The decisive hour had come, when he would suffer disappointments no longer. He took with him a roll of paper which he had smeared with pitch. His idea was to use his diamond ring to cut a square out of the window-pane in Grete's window then stick the soft tar-paper over the cut glass so as to lift it put noiselessly. Otherwise he would have had to push the glass in, making far too much disturbance. A long stout rope completed his equipment.
The weather could not have been more favourable for his undertaking. The deadly Föhn was blowing from the Alps, bringing with it heavy squalls of rain; thick clouds drew a pall of mourning above the countryside. Eddy climbed the winding staircase which led up to the projecting, ornamental tower room. This room had a sky-light, which opened easily, and through this it was quite simple to get out on to the roof.
Once there he felt like shouting a Tally-ho to the pursuing wind, so boldly adventurous was his mood.
With his hair tossed by the wind, a rope over his arm and the tarry paper in his hand, he looked like an insane cowboy galloping across the prairie with his lasso and a scroll of lyric poetry.
A strong iron hook projected from under the lead guttering above the girl's window. He had observed this hook from the garden. Immediately below it was a round dummy window, and still further below, the girl's balcony.
It was a pleasant thought for the prospective burglar that his victim was locked in drugged slumber.
He attached one end of the rope to the hook in a sailor's sling, and allowed the other end to swing to and fro in the wind; it hung far below the level of Grete's balcony. He then tucked the tarry paper under his arm and climbed down.
But he felt the strip of blackened paper beginning to wind itself round his arm and as he tried to remove it the wind pressed the whole thing to his face. He now looked like a member of the Ku-Klux-Klan. Luckily he had reached the dummy window and could therefore perch himself on the narrow window ledge. He let go of the rope for a moment so that he could pull the tarry paper from his face. Grete's balcony was still two floors below him.
Only a short distance away he could see the swaying boughs of a giant pine, and as he sat precariously on the narrow window ledge he wondered why anyone should have thought of building this folly of a dummy window. He was, however, rudely awakened from these musings by the sudden realisation that the dangling rope had disappeared. The wind had caught it as it swung to and fro and it was now entangled in the branches of the pine.
True, it might become disentangled and come swinging back to him at any moment; still, what with being stranded on a narrow ledge with his back to the wall, four storeys up, and with nothing but a roll of tarry paper to hold on to, Eddy realised that so long as his rope remained in the pine-tree he was himself, so to speak, up a gum-tree.
He had only to stretch out his arm to seize the rope, but in his position he dared not make any movement at all.
He began to feel giddy and thought he would surely tumble to the ground.
There was nothing for it - he would have to wait for the next gust of wind to swing the rope back to him. It was not a night when one had to wait long for gusts of wind. One of them was coming along already, wild and roaring.
The rope jerked, become airborne - and was lashed securely between two branches. Now nothing less than a tornado would set it swinging again.
3.
Eddy's situation was desperate. Compared with this, his lumber-room vigil ending in the early morning cross-country race plus a swim had been almost fun and games.
He screwed himself into a ball to wedge himself against the dummy-window. He was numb with cold, soaked to the skin and it was still hours till dawn.
And when morning came, as it inevitably would - what then? How would he explain his curious position?
The gravel crunched. Somebody was coming! A broad-rimmed hat appeared.
It was Herr Maxl! The poet who had written Wilhelm Tell! What was he doing here?
Eddy remembered seeing the man strolling beside the fence with Frau Victoria, Head Gardener Krüttikofer's wife the other night. Aha! So that was the explanation! The Head Gardener had been called away to Erlenbach and was no doubt spending the night there. There was hope for Eddy now. He cleared his throat and called down from his eyrie.
"Good evening, Herr Maxl."
The poet looked up. It took him a moment to locate the owner of the voice, then he raised his hat.
"Good evening, Mr. Rancing. Rotten weather we're having tonight."
"Comes from the Alps. Must be a thaw," Eddy shouted, smiling wanly in his niche.
"Would it be impertinent to ask what you're doing up there?"
"Well... er... I couldn't tell..."
"Ah, in that case I mustn't disturb you," Herr Maxl said, raising his hat, and moving away.
"Herr Maxl... er... I wonder, can you see your way to help me?"
"I regret very much, Mr. Rancing, but I haven't a bean. However, Herr Hüggeli, the manager of the savings bank..."
"I don't mean financially. I should like to get down from here."
"Aren't you all right up there?... What's your idea? Trying to add a bit of statuary to the stonework, or something?"
"I can't get down."
"That doesn't tell me why you're up there..."
"The wind has blown the rope away and it's caught in that pine over there. You might help me to get down from here, Herr Maxl."
"That depends altogether on me. I am willing to facilitate your descent, but first you absolutely must drop some trifling thing for me. For instance, you have a very fine watch and chain."
Eddy was shocked.
"This is blackmail!"
"You can leave that to my conscience. Well? Will you or won't you?"
Herr Maxl had always rather fancied Mr. Rancing's watch with its thick, short chain. He wasn't at all sure, however, that it was real gold. Once, in Zurich, he had bought a silver-headed cane and later he found that it was made of tin. He was more suspicious these days. He made as if to go.
"Wait!"
With silent contempt, Eddy flung his pocket-watch to the ground where it fell with a muffled thud in a flower-bed, among seedlings wrapped in paper.
"For shame!" he cried. "Fancy a poet being so materialistically minded!"
"There you're wrong. As a poet I'm not materialistically minded at all. I've never been paid a penny yet for my works. Now where is that bally watch?"
For now he couldn't find the thing. The wind howled, it was pouring with rain and Eddy was sure he'd catch pneumonia. At last the watch was found.
"Now get me down from here," Eddy urged.
"Look. I have been deceived once before. So if you don't mind, I will just go off to have it valued before we do anything."
Eddy very nearly fell headlong from his perch at that.
"But I say! Dash it, I may fall down any minute!"
"You must shut your eyes and pray. I'll just step round to Högraben's: he lives less than fifteen minutes from here. Excellent watchmaker. One of the best. Learned the trade at Schaffhausen. His younger sister is married to a painter. I'll ask him to take a look at this watch, and if he says it's gold, I'll come straight back to help you."
"Herr Maxl! You're a..."
"Don't thank me. I'll be as quick as I can. He gives twice who gives quickly."
Eddy wished he could give the poet something twice and give it quickly, but at last the poet set out.
Eddy had to cling on with all his might, resisting the force of the wind which now began to drive frozen sleet into his face, and his clothes looked like candied peel.
Herr Högraben's shop must have been a long way away or he must have been fast asleep; for it was quite forty-five minutes before the poet returned.
"It's all right," Herr Maxl reassured Eddy. "He says it's real gold. Now you'll be all right soon. Have no fear."
"A ladder... Get me a ladder," Eddy gasped.
"Don't need it. The fire-brigade will bring their own."
A siren sounded in the distance.
"You skunk! Have you gone and called out the firemen?"
"Why, the gas company can't get you down."
"You'll find a ladder over there... I beseech you... Before they arrive..."
"Oh, yes. And get myself fined for raising a false alarm. No fear, I say, how many jewels are there in this watch?"
4.
Meantime the fire-brigade had turned out, headed by Unteroffizier Zobelmann. The fire-engine, complete with pump and ladder, came along with all the furious speed of the 3.5 h.p. provided by three horses and a mule.
Zobelmann's first action on receiving the call had been to sound the siren so as to give the people time to get to the scene of the disaster while the firemen were still making their preparations. Quickly he changed into his blue-and-white gala uniform. He would have to put his best foot forward today! This was a rare occasion! They hardly ever had a decent fire in this foul hole of a village.
"Ready? Then let her go!"
And the fire-engine raced along to the sound of horses' hooves and a ringing bugle.
By this time a large crowd had collected outside Wollishoff Hall. Curious eyes were directed towards the pitiful figure sitting in the dummy-window, his trousers, like secondary water-pipes, spouting rain.
Now, with a great clatter, the fire-engine rolled to a halt. There followed some brief manoeuvering with the ladder. First they shoved it forward, then they shoved it back. At last, one of the men climbed up and lashed his right hand and leg to the topmost rung. He held up his other hand to the crowd; as a stunt, it was phenomenal and the chap got a big hand.
"Up we go!" Zobelmann bellowed.
Presently the ladder knocked against the wall, and Herr Lübli, the foreman, began to ascend.
By now the gaping crowd had swollen to comprise the total population of Mügli am See; every man, woman and child was present.
It was the merest chance that the firemen were not beaten to the start in the rescue operations by Herr Wollishoff. The old gentleman had been sleeping the sleep of the just when his daughter woke him up at about one o'clock in the morning. Grete had been awakened by an attack of nausea, otherwise known as the tummy rumbles, as a result of the large dose of sodium bicarbonate the doctor had prescribed for Eddy. Doctor Rüdiger had had second thoughts about his diagnosis and had persuaded himself that Eddy's insomnia was imaginary, and that he was really suffering from anaemia; he had therefore rung up the chemist and told him to hand out sodium bicarbonate on the prescription for veronal. And so Grete had awakened, seen the crowds and heard the arrival of the fire-brigade; alarmed, she had rushed to awaken her father.
Herr Wollishoff tumbled into his dressing-gown and rushed out into the garden. He watched the men manoeuvering their ladders, saw their objective and rushed back into the house; when he came out again he was clutching an air-gun, which he proceeded to aim at the human bird perched above Grete's balcony.
He would have saved everyone a lot of trouble, to be sure, had he actually picked off his guest from the ledge of the dummy-window; and Eddy himself was past caring by now. However, at the last moment, Zobelmann halted the old man with a gesture.
"You should put something on!" he bellowed into Herr Wollishoff's ear. "You may catch a cold!"
'Til shoot the feller!"
"Not before we've got him down! What do you think we've turned out for? Now, two men restrain Herr Wollishoff!" he commanded.
The rescue operations were resumed and less than half an hour later, amid much cheering and waving of hats, the strange foreigner touched down. In hoarse, screeching tones not unlike the wailing of a siren, Eddy explained to the old man, who was still pinioned by two of the rescue team, that he was desperately in love with his daughter and had been meaning to propose to her.
"I meant to confess my love to her in a romantic balcony scene."
"What scene?" Herr Wollishoff roared.
"Young lover turns up at night under balcony to confess his love! It's a nice way of saying it! Been written by a great poet!"
"It was me," Herr Maxl muttered. "It happens to Wilhelm Tell."
"I love your daughter," Eddy screeched. "Want to marry her."
"What does he say?" the host asked Foreman Lübli, who stood next to him, hose in hand.
"He loves your daughter," bellowed Lübli in a voice that rattled the window-panes like a medium force gale.
"He loves your daughter!" roared the crowd with one voice.
"Water?... Water?" stammered the old man, astounded, and turned to stare in the direction of the lake.
But Grete, who had been standing in the background, moved forward and threw herself on Eddy's chest. Now, at last, the old man had no difficulty in understanding the situation, and he turned and went indoors again.
In the morning light, the peaks of the Alps emerged from a sea of clouds that looked like tufts of wool and puffs of steam.
Later that morning, Eddy Rancing sent a telegram to his uncle:
Engaged to Buddha. Come immediately.
Eddy
 |  |  |
|
|
|