Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 14, 2025
Orderly and serviceable always, Herr Haase bent and picked up the broken pieces and put them back upon the table. While she was yet dressing, she had heard the soft pad of slippers on the narrow landing outside her room and the shuffle of papers; then, heralded by a single knock, the scrape and crackle of a paper being pushed under her door.
He waited till Herr Haase, with a loud, luxurious grunt, had drawn off the second boot. "There will be a row, of course," he remarked then. "These Excellencies and people are only good for making rows. But I told them he couldn't be moved." Herr Haase shifted his toes inside his socks. "You mean Colonel von Specht? But isn't he here, then?" The young doctor shook his head.
"It isn't over," he said. "There's the stuff he" with a glance like a stab at Von Wetten "threw into the lake. Ready?" "Ach!" The Baron stepped hastily aside. "Yes; I had forgotten that. Quite ready, my dear sir quite ready. Haase, my good friend, I think I'll stand behind you this time."
"Ne'r moind, I knaw;" and going close up to his ear and placing his hand on the man's arm, he said, "My Father 'll gie the' this haase, He telled me soa; I've been to Him abaat it, and I have His word on 't; but afore thaa gets it, I want the' to promise me that while I live I shall have my meetin' here."
It was in a sunlight tempered as by a foreboding of sunset, when the surface of the lake was ribbed like sea sand with the first breathings of the evening breeze, that Herr Haase, riding proudly in the back seat of honor, brought the motor-car to the hotel.
The first thing Haase had done was to take away my papers to send them to the police, as he explained but he never gave them back, and when I asked for them he put me off with an excuse. I was a virtual prisoner in the place.
"What is Von Specht?" grumbled the clerk. "Is this a cipher-message?" "No," gasped Herr Haase. "Can't you read? This is plain German!" Herr Haase, one has gathered, was not afflicted with that weakness of the sense which is called imagination.
Bettermann, doubled up in his low chair, broke in abruptly: "Yes, I insist!" The Baron smiled his elderly, temperate smile. "So be it," he said. "Well, my good Haase, what have you to tell us?" Herr Haase brought his heels together, dropped his thumbs to the seams of his best trousers, threw up his chin, and barked: "Your Excellency, I have seen the Herr Colonel Graf von Specht.
Midnight was close at hand when he reached the Baron's room, with the telegram and his neatly-written interpretation in an envelope. He had changed his coat and shoes for the visit; it was the usual Herr Haase, softish of substance, solemn of attire, official of demeanor, who clicked and bowed to the Baron and Von Wetten in turn. "Our good Haase," said the Baron. "At last!"
Until he received a definite pronouncement from the head-quarters of officialdom, he felt himself unable to settle down to any of the ordinary functions of life. And behind all this, another and a more powerful sentiment possessed him. He had left Berlin without seeing or hearing anything further from Anna von Haase. No word had come from her, nor any message.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking