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Updated: May 3, 2025
In these days she carried a small pistol and a dagger. When she had stepped out on the pavement she glanced quickly up and down the street. Not even a polizeidiener was in sight, for this aristocratic quarter was, in peace and war, the quietest part of an always orderly town. It was evident that the man spied alone.
I half turned to go; but, the next moment, my hat was struck off my head by the police-assistant. What followed was mere confusion. I struck the “Polizeidiener;” and, in return, received several blows on the head from behind with a heavy stick.
I had made no complaint of my bruises, because I did not think this the proper place to do so; although the man who dealt them was present. He had assisted, stick in hand, in taking me to the police-office. He was in earnest conversation with the Polizeidiener, but soon left the office.
The Polizeidiener nudged my elbow, and whispered, “Don’t be alarmed—it will not go hard with you.” “Now, constable,” said the Rath; “what harm have you suffered in this affair?” “My uniform is stained with blood.” “From my head!” I exclaimed. “From my nose,” interposed the Polizeidiener. “In any case it will wash out,” said the Rath.
They threatened me with heavy pains and punishments; and the Polizeidiener whom I had struck, assured me, while stanching his still-bleeding nose, that I should have at least “three months for this.” After several hours’ waiting in the dreary office, I was abruptly called into the commissioner’s room.
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