Part 62

The lady stepped a little nearer to one of the electric lights, which were all covered with silk shades of a strong deep colour. Then Wenk saw that his hostess, whom he had taken for quite young, was very much made up and thickly powdered. Her dress was extremely glaring, and Wenk was startled by her general appearance as, with an extremely friendly smile, she inclined her head towards the man advancing, saying, “My husband,” and left them.

“Good evening, Prince,” said the police superintendent to a man who bowed to Wenk in what the latter considered a slightly affected way; and as his host raised his head again, Wenk looked into a swarthy face with a black moustache, strongly resembling one of those seen in the collection of criminals’ likenesses he had been studying earlier in the day. The lady of the house was not in sight.

The Prince, who in appearance was somewhat common, possessed the most finished manners. He had, moreover, the very rare gift of conversing without saying anything, for all the subjects of conversation seemed, as it were, extraneous to him. He accepted any subject offered him, apparently only to give form to the matter in hand, but made no contribution of his own.

“That manner of his shows breeding,” thought Wenk. “He is only moderately gifted, but he has such a desire for form that even the most trivial matter must be expressed ‘just so’! But what a curious appearance he has!”

The Prince led him to the first row of chairs, and the company were begged to take their seats. Wenk did not see Weltmann among them, for he would, of course, have been noticeable at once, through having lost his hand.

Wenk sat on his hostess’s left, with the Hungarian police superintendent close at hand. The rich hangings on the little stage swayed lightly, and a tall, broad-shouldered man, with rather bowed shoulders, came forward. He was well and fashionably dressed, but in contrast to the other guests, who were all in evening clothes, he wore a dark grey woollen street-suit. It was at once evident that the hand covered with a dark grey glove was an artificial one. “He is a Hungarian, that’s quite certain,” thought Wenk, “in spite of his German name.”

Weltmann had a thick black moustache with drooping ends. His eyebrows rose suddenly, making a high arch over his eyes. His black hair was combed right back and plastered smooth. The few words he spoke were simple and somewhat rough.

He said that the gifts he was about to display before the Prince and Princess and their guests were matters of fact, and he thought that the guests would prefer facts rather than an attempt to explain in words what would probably never be explainable. He would first offer himself as subject, and ask someone to name a lady and a gentleman in the company. Perhaps the Princess would name one.

Then the Princess said, “As the gentleman you want, I should like to name my neighbour, Herr von Wenk!”

“And the lady? Perhaps the Prince would name the lady?”

The Prince answered at once, “Then I shall name my wife.”

Weltmann seated himself, laying his artificial hand upon his knee in a way which everyone noticed. The other hand he kept in his coat-pocket. After a pause, in which he had collected his thoughts, he said, “Princess, have I ever had your watch in my hand--the little watch you carry in your hand-bag?”

“I don’t believe you ever have!” answered the Princess.

“The number of that watch is 56403. It is an oval-shaped dernier-cri design!”

The Princess drew out her watch, opened it, read the number, and nodded. She showed it to both her neighbours, and said eagerly, “That’s quite right!”

“Please to think of a colour and write it down upon a piece of paper, and show it to your neighbours.”

The Princess considered a while. Then she wrote down, “The amethyst colour of Herr von Wenk’s ring,” and handed the piece of paper to Wenk.

Weltmann thought for some time, then he said hesitatingly: “It is a colour in your immediate neighbourhood, but it is rather indefinite. It is transparent, so it is probably that of a jewel. I cannot say exactly what two colours it is made up of, but there is violet in it.”

“Lift your ring up to the light, Herr von Wenk,” said the Princess, and all could see that a deep violet was mingled with a transparent bluish-white.

“Which gentleman did the Princess name?” asked Weltmann.

“My neighbour, Herr von Wenk,” she replied.

“You, sir,” went on Weltmann rapidly, as Wenk nodded slightly, “have your pocket-book in your right-hand breast-pocket. In it there are two notes for one thousand marks each; one is dated 1918, Series D, No. 65045, and the other Series E, No. 5567. Shall I go on, or will you see first whether this is correct?”

Wenk felt his pocket laughingly.

“No,” said Weltmann, “I meant the right-hand pocket, not the left. In the left you have your Browning pistol, stamped with the Serraing trade-mark, No. 201564.”

Wenk looked in amazement at Weltmann, for it was quite true. His Browning was in his left-hand pocket, and it was one of the Serraing make. From all sides folks gazed at him, and the Princess leant towards him, so that he could distinguish the scent of the powder she used.

“Well, what do you think of that, Herr von Wenk?”

The entertainer smiled down at him, saying, “You need not mind showing the revolver, for in another compartment of your pocket-book you have the permit which allows you to carry firearms. It was renewed in Munich on January 1, 1921, and its number is 5. You must have been in a hurry to get your weapon authorized.”

“Was he dreaming, and was this singular man sneering at him?” thought Wenk. He brought it out, and everything was just as stated.