Wolf Among Wolves

Absent-mindedly he went to the exit; the air in the corridor had given him a headache, and the voices in the secretary’s room disturbed him.

He stood in the street. The asphalt was shining like a mirror. Difficult day for taxi drivers, he thought as the cars passed him cautiously, feeling their way. No, I shouldn’t like to be a taxi driver. But what on earth would I like to be? I’m no use for anything. I’ve wasted the whole day and now I shan’t get Petra out, after all—I feel it. What can she have done?

He remained on the curb. Lights were reflected on the wet asphalt, but there was no light to guide him. Then somebody knocked into him, and it was Madam Po, of course.

“Lor’, Herr Pagel, it’s a good thing I saw you standing ‘ere. I thought you’d hopped it. Don’t do that, whatever you do. Fetch your good money. Why should you leave it to those fellows? I don’t know, and never will, why they call themselves policemen, with a copper’s sharp eye and a good wage and all that, and then somebody pulls their legs, telling ’em that you’re a sharper with the three-card trick. You know, they squeeze the card like this and chuck it on the table and the other’s got to guess what it is.… The blinking fools! A gent like you. But I’ve given them an earful. All above-board gambling, I told ’em, good class with the bank and gents, men in tail coats, only those who rake in the money, not you, of course. Ain’t I heard about it often enough through the door when you were telling Peter? …”

“What’s the trouble about Peter?”

“Well, you know, Herr Pagel, the trouble about her—well, I don’t know either. They won’t say a word, but there’s something queer. The fraud charge and so on, that’s finished with, they had to give it back to me, and I’ve torn it to pieces in front of Mister Yellow Eye—Mister Yellow Mug. An’ about the curtain, I told them that was only a tipsy joke of yours, and if you’d like to give me something toward a new one …”

“I must get my money first,” said Pagel and went back.

The secretary was now alone. Yes, interest in his case had slackened. It seemed that the dying man had made a mistake, after all; it wasn’t an important matter, only a trifle. And this was no time for trifles. The secretary was no longer in a mood to employ his detective technique. Leo Gubalke’s last official act had been wiped out before the dying man had drawn his last breath.

With indifference the secretary examined the copy of the art dealer’s purchase note. It would be in order. He did not even ring up. It was too improbable that a man could win a thousand dollars in a couple of hours by the three-card trick. “But you’re not to gamble,” he said wearily and gave Pagel back the purchase note. “Games of chance are prohibited by law.”

“Certainly,” said Pagel politely. “I shan’t gamble any more. May I stand bail for Fräulein Ledig?”

“She’s no longer here,” said the secretary, and for him she no longer existed, indeed. “She’s already at Alexanderplatz.”

“But why?” shouted Pagel. “Tell me why?”

“Because she indulges in lewd practices without being under police supervision,” said the secretary, tired out. “Moreover, she is said to have a venereal disease.”

It was just as well that there was a chair near—Pagel gripped it so hard, he thought it would break. “That’s impossible,” he managed to say at last.

“She’s been recognized,” explained the secretary and made to get on with his work. “By another girl of the same profession. Besides, she admitted it.”

“She admitted it?”

“She admitted it.”

“Thanks,” said Pagel. He let go the chair and went toward the door.

“Your money, your papers,” called the secretary impatiently.

Pagel made a renunciatory gesture, then thought better of it and pushed the lot back into his pockets.

“You’ll lose your money,” said the secretary indifferently.

Pagel repeated his gesture and marched out.

Only five minutes later, in the midst of his scribbling, did it occur to the secretary that he had given Herr Pagel false, or at least misleading, information. Petra had admitted to having practiced lewdness a few times about a year ago. She had not admitted to having a venereal disease.

The secretary deliberated a moment. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps he wouldn’t marry her now. One shouldn’t marry such girls. Never!

And he returned to his writing. The case Ledig, the last official act of Oberwachtmeister Leo Gubalke, was wiped out as far as he was concerned.