Free An Old Heart Goes A-Journeying by Hans Fallada Page B

a gap of water that looked very broad and perilous. . . . He landed somehow, staggered and fell. His body struck against something hard, and he felt a sharp twinge of pain.
    “Come back! Throw the old fool out,” screamed the woman on the shore, grabbing the boat hook.
    “Pull away!” cried the Professor. He sat in the bottom of the boat looking sick and yellow, gasping for breath, his hand to his side.
    The girl saw the approaching boat hook, and bent to the oars. The boat shot out into the lake.
     
    “What is all this disgraceful disturbance?” exclaimed Schlieker, with an air of vast surprise, as he opened the door, which the invaders were now battering with a crowbar and a handspike. “Officer, I protest against this damage to my property.”
    He stood in the door, barring the way and grinning contemptuously at the infuriated throng. “Ah, Gottschalk, you old fool, you think you can stick your nose into everything because you happen to be the parish clerk. You’ll pay for my door.”
    “That will do, Herr Schlieker,” said Constable Gneis angrily. “It is your fault we have had to stand here knocking and shouting. If there’s any charge to be made, it will be against you for resisting the law—and money won’t put that right.”
    “Knocked, did you?” said Schlieker with a laugh, not budging an inch out of the doorway. “And shouted too? Well, Herr Gneis, I heard nothing whatever. I was in the cellar stopping up the old rat holes with glass and cement. You can’t hear anything down there, but that’s no reason for smashing a man’s front door. I know that much about justice and the law.”
    “There!” said the constable, looking reproachfully at the sisters and the mayor. “Exactly as I thought. Exactly. But I’ve one thing to say to you, Schlieker my man, and I’ll take my service oath on it. You’re going to find this a bad day’s work.”
    “Kindly address me as Herr Schlieker, officer,” grinned Schlieker. “I quite understand you’re more used to the society of criminals, such as the one handcuffed to you at present, but I must insist on your speaking to me with proper respect. Ah, Philip, my lad,” he said with sudden geniality, “glad to be back again, eh? You will be gladder later on, I can promise you that, on my solemn oath.”
    “None of that nonsense, Herr Schlieker,” said the constable angrily. “We will deal with the boy’s case in due course. First, you hand over the five children at once. It’s a sin and shame that the sisters should have to toil up here, when you have been officially instructed three times to give them up.”
    “But I have done so!” cried Schlieker in high astonishment. “My foster daughter went off with them early this morning, and they must have reached the office long ago.”
    “That’s a lie!” said the red-cheeked sister indignantly. “I heard a child crying in the house!”
    “Herr Schlieker,” said the constable confidentially, “what’s the use of such talk? I shall simply have to search the house—why bring all this unpleasantness on yourself? . . . Do be sensible for once, and don’t run your head against a brick wall.”
    “I’m quite sensible. I tell you that the children started out at five this morning. If you want to look over the house, please do so, officer.”
    And he stepped out of the doorway.
    The others whispered for a moment while he watched them with a grin on his face. Then they started searching the house and, of course, they searched in vain. Most persistent of all was the large and bearded sister who knelt down and looked under every bed and rummaged in every cupboard and every basket as though a baby might be hidden among waste paper or dirty clothes.
    “Try under the sofa, Sister Adelaide,” said Schlieker genially, and managed to give Philip a jab in the ribs unobserved. This he did as often as he could. The poor lad looked more and more woebegone, and his servitude to the Schlieker household seemed