The Man Without a Memory by Arthur W. Marchmont (digital e reader .TXT) 📕

Major Borsch stood gloating over me as I read the telegram. "Well, what do you think of your friend the Baron, now?" he sneered.

He expected me to be completely crushed, so I shook off my first feeling of dismay and looked up with a bland smile. "I'm much obliged to you for showing it to me," I replied, as if it were the merest trifle. I must have done it pretty well, for even Nessa, who had been overwhelmed by the news, was surprised and pulled herself together.

"Perhaps you'll also be obliged for what will follow," he roared, aggravated by my coolness.

"What an exceedingly unpleasant person this is," I said to Nessa. "I'm sorry he can't behave himself; but you must try not to let it worry you. I suppose he can't help it."

"He doesn't worry me in the least, thank you," she replied contemptuously.

"You hold your tongue, you baggage," he shouted, turning on her.

"Major Borsch!" I cried, rising.

"Sit down, you infernal swinehound! And as for you, you——"

The sentence was not finished. My temper flew out of the window. If I was to be charged with murder, a little extra such as a smack on the mouth of even a major wouldn't make much difference, so I gave him one, and put enough behind it to knock him down.

An involuntary scream from Nessa was drowned in his yells for his men; and two of them rushed in and seized me. He didn't get up until I was thus rendered helpless and then kept far enough away, pouring out a torrent of cursing abuse while he staunched the blood on his cut lips.

Captain Brulen arrived in the middle of it, with Freibach close on his heels; and the bully declared I had tried to murder him in order to escape. It was such a palpable absurdity that Freibach turned his face away to smile.

"This man was insulting the lady in my charge and I struck him, Captain Brulen," I explained. "You probably know him well enough to understand it is just what he would do."

"It is a very grave position," he replied. "Very grave indeed."

"You mean because of that telegram? Nonsense. It's a palpable forgery."

The major burst out into raucous laughter. "Forgery! Forgery, is it? Well, forgery or no forgery, you'll answer for that attack on me. Search him, and if he resists knock him on the head," he ordered the two soldiers.

"Is this man the senior officer on the train, Captain Brulen?"

"Hold your insolent tongue; and, Captain Brulen, stay where you are. Do as I told you," he ordered the men.

It would have been madness to resist. There was nothing on me of any consequence; and as Nessa was sitting on the suit case with her dress entirely covering it, nothing of importance was found, except the passports and our tickets. These the bully promptly pocketed.

"Can I speak to you a moment, Major?" said Brulen then.

"No. Mind your own business. This is my affair, not yours."

"Very good, sir," and with that he and Freibach went away. Both looked very disturbed, although for quite different reasons, as I knew.

"Take the man to the other end of the carriage; see that the two prisoners have no chance of speaking to each other; remain between them in the middle until we reach Osnabrück, and if any attempt is made to escape, use your bayonets. You're answerable for them."

"I'm going to sleep," said Nessa as the brute was leaving the carriage; and she put her legs up on the seat with excellently acted unconcern.

"Good idea, so will I," and I threw myself full length on the seat.

"Silence," roared the brute. "If they speak, club them both," and with this amiable command to our guards he left us.

The men would in all probability have obeyed him to the letter, so we prudently gave them no occasion.

Except for the desire to try and reassure Nessa, there was nothing to be said. The disastrous telegram had ruined everything. What did it mean? It didn't seem possible that von Gratzen could have sent such a message. It was too blunt, too crude, and altogether too brutal a thing to fit with all I had seen of him. He was wily enough in all truth, but such a method was so lacking in finesse, so devoid of cunning, that I could not believe it had really come from him.

It was possible that he had been infuriated at discovering I had stolen the passports; but even then he would have resorted to some far more adroit means of arresting me. There was another consideration, too. It was not in accord with his plans to denounce me as the murderer in this fashion. His object was not to have me accused, but to catch von Erstein in the web so subtly woven.

At the same time it must have been sent by some one having high authority, because the train had been stopped in order that it might be delivered to the guard. The police could have done it. The detective at the station had probably reported my flight, and, if von Erstein had already accused me to them, they might resort to such a means to have me arrested. But in that case the message would not have been sent in von Gratzen's name. That killed that theory therefore.

There was only one alternative suggestion—that the telegram was a forgery and that von Erstein had ventured to use von Gratzen's name, relying upon his influence to get him out of trouble for it. He had guessed I was going to bolt, and he would have little difficulty in finding out where I had gone; I might even have been followed to the station without knowing it; and it was just such a step as would appeal to his cunning vindictive nature.

The truth would soon be out, as a few minutes would see us at Osnabrück at the pace we were rushing through the night; and until we reached there, nothing could be done. Despite the mysterious telegram I still had faith in von Gratzen's concluding assurance—"Whatever happens I'll stand by you, my boy."

All the same it was a deplorable business, especially for Nessa; and that worried me desperately. We were both sure to be locked up; and Germany is one of those insalubrious countries where it's very difficult to get out of gaol when once the doors have closed on you. Even if the thing were explained at Osnabrück, it would be impossible for her to continue her journey that night; and when she would be able to do so, Heaven alone knew.

It was such a devil of a mess that no amount of wit-racking suggested a way out which did not involve a heap of delay and trouble. But the knot was cut nevertheless, in the most unexpected fashion.

We were nearing Osnabrück, running at some thirty or forty miles an hour, when the engine whistled furiously, and we were far enough in the front of the train to feel the grinding of the brakes quickly applied. Before they could do much to reduce the speed, however, there was a tremendous crash, the heavy carriage collapsed like a card house, the lights were extinguished, and the coach rocked a moment, seemed to rear right up, and then toppled over on its side.

I was flung half a dozen ways at once; against the opposite side of the compartment, then back again and next down, so that I lay sprawling across the door. Something hit me a smack on the head and something else came floundering down on top of me, amid a shower of splintered glass and other fragments.

The "something else" turned out to be Nessa as I discovered when I called out to her in deadly fear that she had been killed. Thank Heaven we were both unhurt, save for the few bruises and slight cuts caused by the shuttlecock shaking we had experienced.

We owed our escape to the fact that we had been lying with our legs up. The result to our two guards showed that. They had been pinned down and lay groaning and moaning piteously in desperate agony.

Nessa was too overwhelmed by the shock to be able to move for a time. But she was awfully brave; not a cry had escaped her lips; and although she was trembling so that she could scarcely speak, she assured me she was not hurt in the least. "I shall be all right in a moment, Jack. I'm not hurt. I was afraid you were killed," she stammered.

It was then I found that the first something which had hit me was my suit case; and never was anything more welcome. There was a flask of brandy in it and a flash lamp, and I managed to get them both. The spirit soon revived us, and I flashed the light round the compartment and took my bearings.

It was a gruesome sight. The two unfortunate soldiers were unconscious; fearfully injured, bleeding terribly, and in such a mess as made one think of the trenches. The carriage lay on its side and the corridor over our heads. That offered the only way of escape, and to reach it I had to stand on the men's bodies. By this means I succeeded in getting a grip on the side of the doorway opening into the corridor. I pulled myself up and scrambled through the opening. Everything was smashed to splinters; there was an ominous smell of gas; part of the train was already on fire, the flames lighting up the weirdly awful scene; and the wind was blowing them right down on our carriage. There wasn't a second to lose if we were not to be roasted alive.

Lying at full length to get a purchase for my feet among some of the wreckage, I leant down to help Nessa out.

She kept her head splendidly. She had presence of mind to remember the suit case, handed it up to me, caught my hand, and I swung her up beside me. It was touch and go even then, for the flames leapt the intervening space at that moment and a flare of gas soon set everything in a blaze.

We had still to get off the carriage, and, although people were hurrying up with assistance, there was no time to wait for them. Crawling over the wreckage to a spot where the side of the carriage had been shattered, I threw the suit case out, sprang after it, and held out my arms, calling to Nessa to jump. She did it without a second's hesitation, falling right on top of me with sufficient suddenness and force to send us both sprawling to the ground.

We were up again in a moment. Nessa laughed strangely and hysterically. "I'm all right, Jack," she cried breathlessly. "Mind the suit case;" and then clutched me convulsively and fainted.

It wasn't surprising, considering that we had had so narrow a squeak for it, and I could estimate the effect upon her by my own general shakiness. What amazed me was that in such a crisis, when death had been a matter of seconds almost, she had seemed to think more about that blessed suit case than her own safety. But she told me the reason afterwards; and of course it was on my account.

I wasn't sorry she fainted. The whole scene was so painful and horrible, that it was a mercy she was spared the sight and smell and sounds of it. Then again it helped to rally me, as I had to see to her. I picked her up and carried her right away to a distance where neither sight nor sound of the disaster was likely to be too obtrusively harrowing, found a shed, and gave her some brandy, and had a swig of it myself.

She soon came round, but was much too overcome by the shock to be moved for a long time, or even to talk. So I let her lie