Africa -- Fiction; Businessmen -- Fiction; Crime -- England -- Fiction; Criminals -- England -- Fiction
"And what did you do?" the major asked with interest.
"Ah, dat was the most worst thing of all, for I followed them mit a
friend of mine, and when we caught them I did not let her know, but I
called him out of his hotel, and I told him that he must fight me.
Dat vos a mistake. I should have done him an insult, and then he vould
have had to ask me to fight, and I could have chosen my own veapon.
As it was he chose swords, for he knew veil that I knew nothing of them,
and he had been the best fencer in the whole of his University. Then we
met in the morning, and before I had time to do anything he ran me
through the left lung. I have shown you the mark of it. After dat I
vas in bed for two month and more, and it still hurts me ven de veather
is cold. That is vat they call satisfaction," Baumser added, pulling
his long red beard reflectively. "To me it has ever seemed the most
dissatisfactory thing that could be imagined."
"I don't wonder you're afraid of the women after that," said the major,
laughing. "There are plenty of good women in the world, though, if you
have the luck to come across them. D'ye know a young fellow called
Dimsdale--? Ah, you wouldn't, but I've met him lately at the club.
He's got a girl who's the adopted daughter of that same ould Girdlestone
that we talk about. I saw the two of them togither one day as happy as
a pair of young love birds. Sure, you've only got to look at her face
to see that she's as good as gold. I'll bet that that woman over the
strate there is another of the right sort."
"Dat voman is alvays in your head," the German said, with a smile.
"You shall certainly dream about her to-night. I remember a voman in
Germany--" And so these two Bohemians rambled on into the small hours,
discoursing upon their past experiences and regaling each other with
many reminiscences, some of which, perhaps, are just as well omitted and
allowed to sink into oblivion. When the major finally retired for the
night, his last thought was of the lady at the window and of the means
by which he might contrive to learn something of her.
These proved to be more easy than he anticipated, for next morning, on
cross-examining the little servant girl from whom Von Baumser had
derived his information, the major found out all that he desired to
know. According to this authority, the lady was a widow of the name of
Scully, the relict of a deceased engineer, and had been staying some
little time at Morrison's, which was the rival establishment to that in
which the major and Von Baumser resided.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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