E-Book, Englisch, Band 100, 134 Seiten
Reihe: 7 best short stories
E-Book, Englisch, Band 100, 134 Seiten
Reihe: 7 best short stories
ISBN: 978-3-96799-457-5
Verlag: Tacet Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
Ernest Bramah (20 March 1868 27 June 1942), whose name was recorded after his birth as Ernest Brammah Smith, was an English author. He published 21 books and numerous short stories and features.
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PARKINSON, the unquenchable stickler for decorum, paused after receiving the general instructions for the day just long enough to create a sense of hesitation. Mr Carrados, merely concerned with an after-breakfast cigarette, divined the position with his usual unerring instinct. 'Yes, Parkinson,' he remarked encouragingly; 'is there anything going on?' A clumsily-folded newspaper enabled the punctilious attendant to salve his conscience as he returned slowly to the table. He shook out the printed sheets into a more orderly arrangement by way of covering the irregularity. 'I understand, sir,' he replied in the perfectly controlled respectful voice that accorded with his deliberate actions 'I understand that this morning's foreign intelligence is of a disquieting nature.' The blind man's hand went unfalteringly to an open copy of The Times lying by him and there a single deft finger touched off the headlines with easy certainty. '"On the Brink of War." "Threatened German Mobilization",' he read aloud. '"The Duty of Great Britain." Yes, I don't think that "disquieting" over-states the position.' 'No, sir. So I gathered from what I had already heard. That is why I thought it better to speak to you about a trifling incident that has come under my notice, sir.' 'Quite right,' assented Mr Carrados. 'Well?' 'It was at the Museum here, sir—a very instructive establishment in Market Square. I had gone there in order to settle a small matter in dispute between Herbert and myself affecting the distinction between shrimps and prawns. I had always been under the impression that prawns were unusually well-grown shrimps, but I find that I was mistaken. I was directed to the cases of preserved fish by a gentleman with a cut across his cheek. Subsequently I learned from the hall-keeper, to whom I spoke about the weather, that the gentleman was the assistant curator and was called Vangoor, being a native of Holland.' 'Vangoor,' mused Mr Carrados. 'I have never heard the name before.' 'No, sir. When I saw the gentleman last we were at Kiel, and he was then a Lieutenant von Groot. I thought perhaps I had better mention it, sir.' Carrados's half-smiling expression did not change in its placid tone and he continued to smoke with leisurely enjoyment. His mind turned back to the details of the Kiel visit of a few years previously as one might turn to a well-kept diary. 'The man you mean called on me once with a complimentary message from the Admiralty department there. I was not in the hotel at the time and he left his card with a few words of explanation in perfect English. We never met and I cannot suppose that he has ever seen me.' 'No, sir,' acquiesced Parkinson. 'You sent me the next day to the Dockyard with a reply. That is the only time I have ever seen the gentleman before today.' 'Have you any reason to think that he may have remembered you again?' 'I formed a contrary opinion, sir. On the other occasion, although it was necessary for us to hold some slight conversation together, Lieutenant von Groot did not seem to be aware of my presence, if I may so define it, sir. I received the impression that the gentleman imagined he was talking to someone taller than I am, sir; and I doubt if he really saw me at all.' 'You are sure of him, though?' 'I was then making a study of detailed observation under your instruction, sir, and I have no misgiving on the point.' 'Very well. It was quite right of you to tell me of this; it may be really important. We are only five miles from a vital naval port, we must remember. Don't say anything to anyone else and I will consider it meanwhile.' 'Thank you, sir,' replied Parkinson, modestly elated. In the past, whenever the subject of the English Secret Service came up it was patriotically assumed on all hands that nothing much was to be expected from that quarter, and we were bidden to lift our admiring eyes to German and other continental models. As a matter of history, when the test came the despised organization proved itself signally efficient. In a small way there was evidence of this that same July day, for within a couple of hours of sending a curiously-worded telegram to an official whose name never appeared in any official list Mr Carrados received an equally mysterious reply from which, after a process of disintegration, he extracted the following information: Ref. Fff. C/M.107. Groot, Karl von. Born Friedeberg (Prussia) about 1880. Mother English. Educated Heidelberg and (?) Kiel. Entered navy. Torpedo-lieutenant (staff) 1907. Resigned in doubtful circumstances 1910. Drawn into espionage system under Bluthmel in connexion with resignation. Expelled Holland 1912. Visited Russia 1913. Recognized in Cork, June, 1913. Speaks German, French, Dutch, Russian, English (excellent). Blonde, tall, grey eyes, diagonal sword-cut left cheek. Description ends. Please report anything known further. Carrados read the decoded message twice, and then thoughtfully crushing the thin paper into a loose ball he dropped it upon an ash-tray and applied a match. 'A telegram form, Parkinson.' With his uncanny prescience the blind man selected a pencil from the rack before him, adjusted the paper to a more convenient angle and, not deviating the fraction of an inch beyond the indicated space, wrote his brief reply: Ref. Fff. C/M.107. Information received. Regret have nothing further to report. M.C. 'We will investigate Mr Vangoor for ourselves a little first,' he remarked, passing across the slip. 'London will have its hands pretty full for the next few days and we are on the spot.' 'Very well, sir,' replied Parkinson with the same trustful equanimity with which he would have received an order to close a window. 'Shall I dispatch this now, sir?' 'Yes—from the head office: head offices are generally too busy to be inquisitive. Read it over first in case of an inquiry....Yes, quite right. Something of a feather if we can circumvent a German spy off our own bats, eh, Parkinson?' 'Yes, sir.' 'At all events we will open the innings without delay.' 'I quite appreciate the necessity of expedition, sir,' replied Parkinson, with his devastating air of profound wisdom. It is doubtful if anyone had yet plumbed the exact limits of the worthy fellow's real capacity. There were moments when he looked more sagacious than any mortal man has any hope of ever being, and there were times when his comment on affairs seemed to reveal a greater depth of mental vacuity than was humanly credible. Carrados found him wholly satisfactory, and Parkinson on his side had ignored a score of hints of betterment. 'Pack a couple of bags with necessaries,' was the instruction he received on his return from the post office. 'Von Groot may likely enough remember my name, and I can't very well change it while staying at a public hotel. We will keep on our rooms here and go into apartments at the other end of the town for a time. There my name will be Munroe and yours can be—say Paxton. I will tell the office here all that is necessary.' 'Very good, sir,' assented Parkinson. 'I did not think the woodcock toast sent up for your breakfast entirely satisfactory, sir.' In years to come generations now unborn will doubtless speculate how people lived in those early days of August, 1914. The simple truth, of course, is that to the vast majority external life went on almost precisely as before. It is as exacting for the moving machine to stop as for the quiescent one to start, and 'Business as usual' was one of the earliest clichés coined. The details of the situation that most impressed the citizen of 1914 are not the details to which the inquirer of 2014 will give a second thought. Individually, it was doubtless very intriguing to have to obtain change for a five-pound note by purchasing postal orders to that amount and immediately cashing them singly again.... Mr Carrados found the Castlemouth Museum open as usual when his leisurely footsteps turned that way on the following morning, and, as usual, the day being fine, deserted. Before they had—Parkinson describing as they went—made the circuit of the first room they were approached by a sociable official—the curator it soon appeared—drawn from his den by the welcome sight of two authentic visitors. 'There are a certain number of specimens that we have to store away for want of space,' he remarked hopefully. 'If there is any particular subject that you are interested in I should be very pleased—' This suited Mr Carrados's purpose well enough, but before committing himself he not unnaturally preferred to know what the curator's particular subject was. An enthusiast is always vulnerable through his enthusiasm and no man becomes curator of an obscure museum in order to amass a fortune. 'I understand,' he replied tentatively, 'that you are rather strong here in—' An impatient gesture with the expressive fingers conveyed the speaker's loss. 'Dear me—' 'Palaeontology?' suggested the curator. 'My predecessor was a great collector and our series of local fossils is unsurpassed. If you—' 'Ah,' replied Mr Carrados; 'very instructive no doubt.' His alert ear recognized the absence of the enthusiast's note. 'But somehow there always seems to me about fossils a—' 'Yes, yes,' supplied the curator readily; 'I know. No human touch. I feel just the same myself about them. Now flints! There's romance, if you...
