Part 24 (1/2)
Gorman listened with every appearance of deference and docility, while von Moll explained the Prussian way of dealing with people like the Irish.
The Queen could not cut the dinner short. Smith had provided many courses and it was impossible to skip any of them. But at the earliest possible moment she got up and left the room. Gorman closed the door behind her and then drew his chair close to that on which von Moll was sitting. Smith brought in coffee and liqueurs. Gorman took the brandy bottle off the tray and set it on the table at von Moll's elbow. Smith made an effort to recover the bottle and carry it away.
He seemed to think that von Moll had had enough to drink. Gorman was of the same opinion, but he did not allow Smith to carry off the brandy bottle. He thought that von Moll might be very interesting if he took rather more than enough to drink. When Smith, after hovering about for some time, left the room, Gorman refilled von Moll's gla.s.s.
”Silly little thing, Miss Donovan,” he said, in a confidential tone.
”That is so,” said von Moll.
”In Germany,” said Gorman, ”you put that sort of young person into her place at once, I suppose.”
”In Germany,” said von Moll, ”she would not exist.”
He spoke with ponderous gravity. Gorman was pleased to see that he was becoming more ponderous as he drank gla.s.s after gla.s.s of brandy.
”That cave incident, for instance,” said Gorman. ”I call it cheek her trying to get into the cave when you had sentries posted outside to stop her. By the way, what had you in the cave that you didn't want her to see? A girl?”
Von Moll leered in a most disgusting manner. Gorman poured him out another gla.s.s of brandy.
”You naval men,” he said, ”you're always the same. No girl can resist you. But, I say, you'd really better keep it dark about that man of yours getting his teeth knocked out. If there were any kind of inquiry and it came out about your being in the cave with one of the island girls----”
”There was no girl in the cave,” said von Moll.
”Come now! I won't give you away. Between ourselves. We are both men of the world.”
”I have said. There was no girl.”
”Oh well,” said Gorman, ”I suppose you were writing poetry and didn't want to be disturbed. What was it? An ode to the Fatherland, 'Oh, Deutschland, Deutschland!'--that kind of thing.”
Von Moll strongly suspected that Gorman was laughing at him again. It seemed almost incredible that any one would dare to do such a thing, but Gorman was plainly an irresponsible person.
”I was,” said von Moll, ”carrying out the orders of the Emperor.”
”The Emperor again,” said Gorman. ”But this time it won't do. It really won't. You can't expect me to believe that the Emperor sent you all the way to Salissa to write poetry in a cave.”
”There was no poetry. The Emperor's orders were not about poetry. They were about----”
Von Moll stopped abruptly and winked at Gorman with drunken solemnity.
”I don't give your Emperor credit for much intelligence,” said Gorman, ”but he must surely have more sense than to give orders of any kind about a cave in an out-of-the-way potty little island like this. Why can't you tell the truth, von Moll?”
Von Moll straightened himself in his chair and glared at Gorman. His eyes were wide open, so wide that a rim of white showed all round the pupils. His forehead was deeply wrinkled. His nostrils were distended.
”_Gott in Himmel!_” he said, ”you doubt my word.”
Gorman chuckled. Von Moll was decidedly amusing when partially drunk.
His glare--he continued to glare in the most ferocious manner--was a most exciting thing to see.
”There is no use looking at me like that,” said Gorman. ”I shan't fight. I never do. I'm not that kind of man. The fact is I don't like fighting.”