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Vexed at this unanticipated description of himself, the brush-maker went straightway to the inn at the sign of the Horse and got drunk, so drunk that Benjamin Dorn had to take him home. It was a beautiful moonlit night. Not far from Hadebusch’s was a little café known as The Paradise. Everything in it was diminutive, the proprietor, the waitress, the tables, the chairs and the portions.
When Daniel at last realised that he was not dreaming, that these were in bitter truth Philippina’s glistening eyes and Frau Hadebusch’s goatish tooth and Dr. Dingolfinger’s silvery beard, and that these were actual words that were being spoken to him, he fell over and became unconscious. Pain, grief, despair, such terms do not describe his condition.
And when Dorothea was present she studied her too: she cast fleeting, searching, unassured glances at them—at Daniel and at Dorothea. Daniel and Dorothea were married on a sunny day in December. For the past fortnight, Philippina and Agnes had been living at Frau Hadebusch’s.
He wanted to raise some questions and make some objections, but Frau Hadebusch’s nimble tongue anticipated him.
It was so still that you could hear the fluttering of the light in the lamp. “Where can Philippina be?” asked Daniel. “Yes, Philippina. I had forgot to tell you,” began old Jordan sorrowfully. “She came to me this afternoon, and told me she was going over to Frau Hadebusch’s with Agnes and was going to stay there until after the wedding.
She thought for a second or two, and then replied: “Oh, yes, I’ll tell you what you can do. Go down to Frau Hadebusch’s! She’s a good friend of mine, and you c’n depend on her. It don’t make no difference what takes place in her house; it won’t bother even the cat. You know Frau Hadebusch! Of course you do. What am I talking about! She is a widow, and lives all alone in a little house.
James’s Place. Some people looked at the odd couple in amazement. When they reached Frau Hadebusch’s little house, it was dark. “Listen, Philippina, are you ever going to talk?” said Daniel, gritting his teeth. “Psh!” Philippina knew what she was doing. She put her mouth to Daniel’s ear, and whispered: “Go up two flights, quick, you know the house, bang on the door, and if it’s locked, bust it in.
Just then she bent over to pick up a hair pin from the floor. The next morning Philippina ran over to Frau Hadebusch’s. The whole way she kept humming to herself; she was happy; she was contented. Despite the rain, Daniel and Benda strolled around the city moat until midnight. The very thing that lay heaviest on Daniel’s heart, as was obvious from the expression on his face, he never mentioned.
It was at the day’s end, and in the room were assembled Herr Francke and Herr Benjamin Dorn, who lodged on the second floor, and Frau Hadebusch’s son, who was weak-minded and crouched grinning beside the stove. Herr Francke was a town traveller for a cigar house, and was regarded as a good deal of a Don Juan by the female servants of the neighbourhood.
Dorothea, who had been in the house packing her things, hastened, luggage in hand, past the corpse. Her face was ashen; she never looked at the dead body of Inspector Jordan. She was soon lost in the crowd of excited people. She had vanished. The police had at last separated Daniel and the American in Frau Hadebusch’s house. Daniel fell on a chair, and gazed stupidly into space.
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