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Updated: May 17, 2025
He was wrong ten thousand dollars in his accounts. He got worrying about it and we found him outside the clearing with a hole in his head. He left a note saying he couldn't bear the disgrace. As if the company would hold a little grafting against as good a man as Curtis!" Schnitzel coughed and pretended it was his cigarette. "You see you don't put in nothing against him," he added savagely.
I knew that he was dying, and as I felt my impotence to help him, I as keenly felt a great rage and a hatred toward those who had struck him. I leaned over him until my eyes were only a few inches from his face. "Schnitzel!" I cried. "Who did this? You can trust me. Who did this? Quick!"
Had you passed him in that neighborhood you would have set him down as a wire-tapper, a racing tout, a would-be actor. As I worked it out, Schnitzel was a spy because it gave him an importance he had not been able to obtain by any other effort. As a child and as a clerk, it was easy to see that among his associates Schnitzel must always have been the butt.
"One hundred dollars gold. It was worth it. Do you want to know how I doped it out?" I even challenged him to do so. "'Roses red' war declared; 'violets blue' outlook bad, or blue; 'send snow' send squadron, because the white squadron is white like snow. See? It was too easy." "Schnitzel," I cried, "you are wonderful!" Schnitzel yawned in my face.
But there was no time for any thoughts like these. He had a glimpse of Bob Dalton and Franz Schnitzel stumbling toward him and Jimmy. Then came a sharp command: "Down! Down on your faces! Everyone! They're turning loose the machine-guns!" The four remaining Khaki Boys fell flat, and only just in time. Over them swept a veritable hail of machine gun bullets. "Dig in!
I probably was the first decent man who ever had treated him civilly, and to impress me with his knowledge he spread that knowledge before me. It was sale, shocking, degrading. At first I took comfort in the thought that Schnitzel was a liar. Later, I began to wonder if all of it were a lie, and finally, in a way I could not doubt, it was proved to me that the worst he charged was true.
Had you passed him in that neighborhood you would have set him down as a wire-tapper, a racing tout, a would-be actor. As I worked it out, Schnitzel was a spy because it gave him an importance he had not been able to obtain by any other effort. As a child and as a clerk, it was easy to see that among his associates Schnitzel must always have been the butt.
The two sergeants James Blaise and Roger Barlow went to a distant part of the intricate trench system, while the two corporals, Robert Dalton and Ignace Pulinski and Sergeant Franz Schnitzel were together in a ditch near the middle of the barbed wire entanglements.
I remembered that, in order to open a trunk for the customs inspectors, I had handed them to Schnitzel, and that he had hung them over his shoulder. In our haste at parting we both had forgotten them. I was only a few blocks from the hotel, and I told the man to return. I inquired for Mr. Schnitzel, and the clerk, who apparently knew him by that name, said he was in his room, number eighty-two.
"Oh, you don't have to hit the soles of my feet with a night-stick to keep me awake," he said. After I had been a week at sea, I found that either I had to believe that in all things Schnitzel was a liar, or that the men of the Nitrate Trust were in all things evil.
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