Free I Was Jack Mortimer (Pushkin Collection) by Alexander Lernet-Holenia Page B

aside,opened one of the letters and, while searching with his free hand in his jacket pocket for cigarettes, lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa and began to study the letter, all the while continuing to fumble unsuccessfully for his cigarettes. However, he didn’t understand the letter as he didn’t know much English. He tore open the second, which, like the two in Mortimer’s wallet, was again signed with a W, and deduced it was another love letter. He returned to the salon, looked to see whether perhaps he’d thrown the cigarette packet away somewhere, and in the meantime removed the dead man’s wallet and compared the handwriting of the old letters with the new one; it was the same. However, he didn’t continue reading, because not being able to find his cigarettes infuriated him suddenly. He hadn’t been in need of a smoke at all so far; now, however, he was all of a sudden dying for one and, unable to find his cigarettes, he blew his top. Swearing furiously, he rushed to the door and rang for the waiter.
    Scarcely had he done this than the danger of the situation dawned upon him. The waiter might of course know him, for he might already have met the man, God knows where, but it was a distinct possibility, or alternatively the waiter might know Mortimer. That the staff in the entrance hall didn’t was beside the point, for the staff might have changed, or there might be another shift on duty, especially at night. So, if a room bell was rung, the waiter was not to know, even if he had met Mortimer previously, that the person now in theroom should be Mortimer; the bell had simply rung for room number such-and-such, and when the waiter entered and encountered someone other than Mortimer, why should he suspect that he, Sponer, was impersonating anyone! In the morning, however, at checkout, staff who knew Mortimer might well be on duty. He, Sponer, would of course just hurry past them and get in the car, but all the same, someone could notice that the person getting in was not the Mortimer he knew. The car would of course immediately drive off, but the busybody trying to match Sponer’s appearance with that of Mortimer’s would be puzzled, questions might be asked, and if it later turned out that Mortimer had disappeared, everyone would say, “Yes, we, too, found he looked quite different,” and they’d follow this lead and enquire what time he had arrived, why only after midnight if the train was in before seven p.m., and then they’d enquire further and ask who had driven him from the Westbahnhof, and the drivers would come up for questioning again. Damn! However, so much time would have elapsed, days and weeks probably, before they’d discover Mortimer’s disappearance that they’d no longer be able to establish who had been at the station that time… What, however, if they found out sooner that he had disappeared? Perhaps people were already expecting him, he might have acquaintances in the city, perhaps he’d actually been here before, of course, otherwise the porter wouldn’t have…
    His thoughts, which were again in a welter of confusion, were interrupted by a knock at the door. Who was it? Thewaiter? Why didn’t he just enter? Sponer stood there in silence. The knocking was repeated.
    “What’s the matter?” he finally shouted out.
    Somebody was saying something on the outside, and at the same time the door handle moved up and down. He’d forgotten that he had locked the door and, despite his utterly confused state, he suddenly realized he was behaving like a madman; the dead man’s belongings were lying all over the chairs and strewn around on the floor. He picked some of them up quickly and stuffed them into the suitcases.
    “Just a moment!” he called to the person on the other side of the door, smoothed his hair, looked in the mirror to straighten his tie, and was horrified by what he saw. A face stared back at him, for all the world like the dead man’s. Closing his eyes for a