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She had little time in which to make up her mind; for if she wished to reach Bombay before Rosenthal sailed she would have to leave Darjeeling that afternoon. What should she do? Should she go? She found a pencil and a telegraph form and addressed the latter to the Hussar. Then she hesitated. But she was not long in coming to a decision.
Just before we turned in, Rosenthal, who had adopted a paternal tone to the three guards, each of whom was many years older than he, addressed them softly, saying: "Now, my children, make yourselves comfortable. Drink what you please; but if any one of you gets drunk I shall take pleasure in seeing that he gets from seven to nine years in prison at hard labor."
The third question was, "Is it not true that the Egyptian railway was built by the English?" Fourthly, "Did he not give a letter to Consul Cameron for him to deliver to the Queen of England, and did not the Consul return without an answer? Did not Mr. Rosenthal say that the English Government had laughed at his letter?"
The commandant was soon replaced by a colonel with a white beard and a benevolent aspect, though in reality he was inclined to be vicious and most unreasonable. He was soon followed by two junior officers, Lieutenants Briggs and Rosenthal. The former was an officer of the Reserve, one of the nicest Germans I have ever met, and I can almost safely say a gentleman.
She was only a little girl, of course, he said to himself later; just a kid, but she was a mighty cunning kid! Julia often had dinner with the Rosenthals; she loved every separate member of the family and she knew they all loved her. She used to run upstairs and pop her pretty head into the Rosenthal kitchen perhaps twice a week, sure of a welcome and a good meal.
Rosenthal found his arguments less ready and his methods modifying themselves. The outlook narrowed itself. When he returned to his office and talked the situation over with his partner, he sat and bit his nails in restless irritation. "Ridiculous as it seems, outrageously ridiculous, I've an idea," he said, "I've more than an idea that we have to count with the girl." "Girl? What girl?"
Therefore, each eye was turned against its neighbor, and each man, as he passed you, asked the silent question, "Did you shoot Herman Rosenthal?" During all the months on the Continent, and particularly in Germany, I felt myself at Rosenthal's funeral. To a greater or less degree other correspondents had similar experiences.
Although the manufacturers of mechanical piano-players had never solicited Felix Geigermann's photograph for half-tone reproductions in the advertising section of anybody's magazine, he dressed as though he expected the immediate arrival of the man with the camera that is to say, he wore his hair after Mahler, while Hollman and Moritz Rosenthal contributed to the pattern of his moustache.
"That's Rosenthal of the 2nd Hussars from Bangalore. Son of old Rosenthal the South African multi-millionaire. A Sheeny, of course." "Who's the woman he's dancing with?" asked the Gunner. "Jolly good-looking she is." "That's Mrs. Norton, wife of a Political somewhere in the Presidency. Rosenthal's always in her pocket since he met her at Mahableshwar."
During the six weeks we remained at Rosenthal, Zimmer and I often wandered through the city to kill time. We went by way of the faubourg of Randstatt and pushed as far as Lindenau, on the road to Lutzen. There were nothing but bridges, swamps and wooded islets as far as the eye could reach.
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