Part 8 (2/2)
”I understand that always.”
”You would not be afraid?”
”Of what?”
”Of--death?”
”No.”
He stared out of the window.
The dense, opaque shadows pressing down on the garden. The shadows hanging loose and thick on the high, boxwood hedges. The dark, smooth, night sky.
And suddenly a faint tremor ran through him from head to foot. He pressed his face close to the gla.s.s. His hands went up screening a small s.p.a.ce for his eyes.
In the still block of shadows, in the black ma.s.s of them, he had seen something; something had moved against the quiet clumping shadows.
”I say,” he whispered. ”There's some one coming up through the garden.”
”Yes--yes.”
They were silent for a long time.
Once he looked at Kurz huddled in the armchair; his face white and drawn; his eyes staring before him.
He thought he heard footsteps coming softly up the stairs; footsteps that came lightly and hesitated and then came on again.
”Charlie--!” Kurz stammered. ”Charlie--!”
He felt that some one was standing in the open doorway.
He turned.
His eyes took in the well known figure. The sweet face with its red cheeks and its framing white hair. The short body. The blue eyes that were fixed on him.
”Mutter Schwegel!” He shouted.
Kurz leaped to his feet.
”What!”
He started for the door.
”Mutter Schwegel, who would have thought of your coming here. It has been a long time. I say!--But I am glad.”
”Stop--!” Kurz's voice thundered behind him.
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