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  Fischerle was rid of her. He hadn't cheated her on purpose. He, too, in the anger arising from his terror and his relief had lost his head. All the same, even if her services had been smoothly rendered, he would certainly have tried to cheat her of her salary. He handed the parcel to the blind man and advised him to go carefully and to keep quiet, his permanent employment depended on that. The blind man in die meantime had closed his eyes in order to forget the women whom he had seen as large as life before him. When he opened them, all had vanished, even the heaviest, and he felt a slight regret. Instead of them, he recollected in detail his new duties. Fischerle's advice was therefore superfluous. In spite of the haste necessary to his undertaking, Fischerle did not let him go gladly; he had set much store on this question of buttons. How much that man cared for the acquisition of women he, who was indifferent by nature to the other sex, could not possibly estimate.

  Going back to the hawker, he said: 'To think that a businessman has to trust such scum!' 'How right you are!' declared the other, who excepted himself as a businessman from the scum. 'What's the point of living?' — the four hundred schillings which he might lose made him tired oflife. 'For sleeping,' answered the hawker. 'You and sleep!' at the thought of the hawker asleep — he who lamented his insomnia all day and every day — devouring laughter shook the dwarf. When he laughed, his nostrils looked like two wide open mouths; underneath them two small slits, the corners of his mouth, became visible. This time he had got it so badly that he had to hold his hump as other people would their belly. He put his hands under it and carefully absorbed every jolt that shook his body.

  He had barely laughed himself to a standstill — the hawker was wounded to the depths of his soul by the scepticism with which his projected sleep had just been received — when the blind man reappeared and vanished into the porch. Fischerle threw himself upon him and tore the money out of his hand, was amazed to find die sum exact — or hadn't he told him to ask for five hundred after all, no, four hundred — and asked in order to disguise his excitement: 'How'd it go*' 'I ran into someone in the swing door, into a woman, I'm telling you, if I hadn't been holding this parcel so stupidly I'd have bumped right up against her, such a fat one she was! Your business friend's a bit off it.' 'Why? what's the matter with you?' 'You won't mind my saying so, but he's got it in for the women! Four hundred's a lot, he said. Because of the woman, he said, he understands and doesn't mind paying. Women are the cause of all the trouble. If I'd been allowed to speak I'd have told him straight, the bloody fool! Women! Women! What else would I live for if it weren't for women? I bumped into that one a treat, and he makes a scene!' 'That's the way he is. He's a bachelor for pleasure. I won't have any complaints, he's my friend. I won't have you talking to him either, otherwise you'll hurt his feelings. You don't hurt a friend's feelings. Have I ever hurt yours?' 'No, I give you that, you've got a heart of gold.' 'That's it, you come back to-morrow at nine, see? And not a word, see, because you're my friend! We'll show them if a man can be done down by buttons!' The blind man went off. He felt such a deep well-being that he had soon forgotten the peculiarities of the business friend. With twenty schillings you could do something. First things first. First things were a woman and a new suit, the new suit must be black to match his new moustache; you can't get a black suit for twenty schillings. There was always the woman.

  As for the hawker, injured and curious as he was, he had forgotten both caution and his habitual cowardice. He wanted to surprise the dwarf in the very act of changing the parcels. The prospect of going over an entire church, even a small one, to find the parcel, did not tempt him in the least. By popping up suddenly he would get at least an idea of where it was, for the dwarf would be coming away from it. He met him in the doorway, took his parcel, and went off without a word.

  Fischerle followed him slowly. The outcome of this fourth attempt was not of much financial significance; it was a matter of principle. Should Kien pay out this hundred schillings as well, the resultant profit coming to Fischerle alone — 950 schillings — would be larger than what he had already received as his reward for finding the wallet. During the whole of this organized fraud at the expense of the book racket, Fischerle had not for an instant lost sight of the fact that he was dealing with an enemy who, only yesterday, had tried to fleece him of everything. Naturally enough you look after your own skin. If you're up against a murderer you have to murder yourself; if you're up against a crook you have to be crooked too. Though there was a particular twist to this affair. Maybe the creature would only insist on having the reward money back again, maybe he'd plunge even deeper in mean trickery — people often get impossible ideas into their heads — and risk his whole fortune on the game. Anyway his whole fortune had once been in Fischerle's possession, so he'd a right to get it back from him. Maybe, though, the good opportunity was over now. It isn't everyone who can get ideas into his head. If the creature had a character like Fischerlc's, if he cared as much for getting back that reward money as Fischerle did for chess, then business would be brisk. But can you ever tell what sort of a customer you may be dealing with? Maybe he only talks big, maybe he's only a poor sap who'll begin to regret his money and will say suddenly: 'Stop, that s enough!' He may do that and may lose his chance of getting back the reward money for a mere hundred schillings. How should he know that he's going to have every penny taken off him and not get a thing in return: If this book racket has a spark of intellect, and you've got to hand it him, he does give that impression, he's got to pay until he hasn't anything left. Fischerle began to doubt if he had as much intellect as all that; not every one had the logic, which he had developed at chess. He needs a man of character, a man of character like himself, a man who'll go through with things to the bitter end; for a man like that he'd pay out gladly, a man like that could be his business partner if he could only find him; he'll just go as far as thedooroftheTheresi-anum to meet him, he'll wait for him there. In any case, he can always double-cross him later on.

  Instead of a man of character, out trotted the hawker. He stopped short, horrified. He hadn't expected to run into the chief. He'd heen smart enough to ask for twenty schillings more than the sum stipulated. He clutched at his left trouser pocket where he had stuffed his earnings — they couldn't be detected — and dropped the parcel. For the moment Fischerlc cared not at all what happened to the goods; he wanted to know something. His employee had crouched on his knees to pick up the parcel; to his astonishment Fischerlc did likewise. Once on the ground he reached for the hawker's right hand and found the hundred schillings. That's nothing but a blind, he thought. He's frightened for his precious parcel, but why the hell didn't I take a quick look inside it, it's too late now. Fischerle got up and said: 'Don t fall over! Take the parcel home and at nine sharp to-morrow be ready in the church with it! So long.' 'Here, what about my commission?' 'Excuse me, my memory' — accidentally he was speaking the truth — 'here it is!' He gave him his percentage.

  The hawker went off ('To-morrow at nine? That's what you think') into the church. Behind a column he sank once more to his knees and, deep in prayer lest anyone should come in while he was at it, he opened the parcel. It contained books. His last doubt vanished. He'd been done. The real parcel was somewhere else. He packed up the books, hid them under a bench, and began his search. Praying all the time, he crept round about the church and, praying, looked under every bench. He was thorough; the opportunity was not one which would quickly come again. Often he thought he had the secret, but it was only a black prayerbook. At the end of an hour he had acquired an implacable hatred for prayerbooks. At the end of two hours his back ached and his tongue hung limply out of his mouth. His lips continued to move as if he were murmuring prayers. When he had finished he began again at the beginning. He was too clever to repeat his actions mechanically. He knew that i£ you've overlooked a thing once, you overlook it again, and changed the order of his actions. All this time few people came into the church. He listened intently for unusual noises an
d stood stock still when he heard one. A pious old woman held him up for twenty minutes; he feared she might discover the sacred secret before he did, and watched her intendy. So long as she stayed there he didn't even dare sit down. Early in the afternoon he had no notion left how long he had been searching, but stumbled, zigzag, from the left to the third row of benches on the right, and from the right to the third row of benches on the left. This was the last order of search which he had thought out for himself. Towards evening he collapsed somewhere on the floor and fell into a sleep of exhaustion. He had achieved his ultimate aim, but long before the fortnight was up, that same evening when die church was locked up, the sacristan shook him awake and threw him out. He forgot the real parcel.

  CHAPTER V

  REVELATIONS

  When Fischerle, violently winking, appeared of a sudden through the glass door, he was greeted by Kien with a benign smile. The compassionate office which he had recently taken upon himself had mellowed his soul and called forth noble metaphors. His soul inquired what might be the meaning of those flashing melancholy beacon-lights; in the torrential flood of his love he had forgotten all previously arranged signals. Kien's faith, unshaken as his distrust of book-blaspheming humanity, was browsing in beloved pastures. He was regretting the weakness of Christ, that mysterious prodigal. Gifts of food and wine, healing of the halt and the blind, parable after parable went through his head; how many books, he thought, might have been saved by these miracles: he felt that his present state of mind resembled that of Christ. He too would have acted in the same fashion; only in its objects did Christ's love seem to him an aberration, like that of the Japanese. Since the philologist in him still lived, he decided to devote himself, when peaceful times should again bless the land, to a fundamentally new textual examination of the gospels. It was possible that Christ had in fact not referred to men at all, and the barbarian hierarchy had falsified the original words of their founder. The unexpected appearance of Logos in the Gospel of St. John gave abundant grounds for doubt, all the more since the usual explanations refer it back to a Greek influence. He felt himself equipped with enough knowledge to guide Christianity back to its true sources, and though he was not to be the first to pour the true words of the Saviour out to humanity, whose ears were always ready to receive them, he might hope, nevertheless, on a sufficient inner conviction, that the indications he set down would be final.

  Fischerle's indications of a threatening danger, on the other hand, went unrecognized. For a time he continued his warning winks, alternatively closing his right and his left eye. At last he threw himself on Kien, clutched his arm and whispered 'Police!' the most awesome word he knew. 'Run! I'll go first! he said, and placed himself, contrary to his promise, once more at the door to see the effect of his words. Kien cast a dolorous glance upwards, not to Heaven, to Hell rather, on the sixth floor. He vowed to return to this sanctified antechamber, if possible, even to-day. With all his heart he scorned the vile pharisecs who persecuted him. As a true saint he did not forget, before setting his long legs in motion, to thank the dwarf with a stiff but profound inclination. If he should forget his duty out of cowardice, he vowed his own library to a fiery death. He ascertained that his enemies had not in fact shown themselves. What did they fear? The moral force of his pleadings? He pleaded for no sinners, he pleaded for guiltless books. Meanwhile let them injure but one hair of one of these, and they would learn to know a very different side of him. He knew his Old Testament too, and reserved his vengeance. Fiends, he cried, ye keep watch for me in secret places, but with uplifted brow I forsake this sink of iniquity. I fear not, for countless millions fight on my side. He pointed upwards. Then, slowly, he betook himself to flight.

  Fischerle did not let him out of his sight. He had no intention of handing his money out of Kien's pocket to any crook. He feared the appearance of unknown pawn-addicts and propelled Kien to further speed with both nose and arms. From the hesitative conduct of the other he drew a kind of guarantee for his future. The creature evidently had character and had certainly taken it into his head to get the reward money back in this and no other way. He had not diought him capable of so much logic and was filled with admiration. He proposed to further the plans laid by this man of character. He would help Kien to get rid of his capital down to die last penny, in the shortest time and without too much trouble. But since it would be a pity to break up a fortune which had been in the first place a very respectable one, Fischerle must take good care that no unauthorized person interfered. Business affairs between two men of character were their own concern and no one else's. He accompanied each step of Kien's with a joyful bob of his hump, pointed here and there to a dark corner, put his finger to his lips and walked on tiptoe. When they passed an official — by chance it happened to be the hog in charge of the valuations in the book section — he attempted a bow, and shot his hump towards him. Kien too bowed, out of sheer cowardice; he sensed that this so-called human being, who had come down the stairs a quarter of an hour before, functioned as a fiend on high, and trembled lest he should be forbidden his station at the window.

  At long last Fischerle had forced him as far as the square behind the church, and drawn him into the porch. 'Saved!' he mocked. Kien was astounded at the magnitude of the danger in which he had been. Then he embraced the dwarf and said in a soft, caressing voice: 'If it were not for you ... ' 'You'd be in clink long ago!' Fischerle completed the sentence. 'Are my actions then such as to bring me into collision with the law?' 'Everything brings you into collision with the law. You get yourself a meal because you re hungry, and they take you up for stealing again. You help a poor devil to a pair of shoes, he goes off in the shoes and you've aided and abetted. You go to sleep on a bench, dream away for ten years, and they wake you up because you did something ten years ago — wake you up, indeed! Take you up, more like! You try to help a few poor innocent books and they put a cordon right round the Theresianum, one of them in every corner, you ought to have seen their new revolvers ! There's a major in charge of them, I ran right between his legs. What d'you think he's got down there, so low that none of the tall people walking by should notice — a warrant. The president of the police has drawn up a special warrant because you're sort of high-up. You know yourself who you are, I don't need to tell you ! Eleven o'clock sharp you're to be taken, alive or dead, inside the Theresianum. Once you're outside nothing's allowed to happen to you. Outside you're not a criminal any more. Eleven o'clock sharp. And how late is it now? Three minutes to eleven. Look for yourself!'

  He drew him to the opposite side of the square whence he could see the church clock. They had not been there a minute or two before it struck eleven. "What did I say, it's eleven already! Talk of luck! Remember the man we ran into? That man was the hog.' 'The hog!' Kien had not forgotten a word of Fischerle's original account. Since he had unloaded his head, his memory was working again admirably. He clenched his fist, belatedly, and shouted: 'Miserable bloodsucker! Ah, if I had him here!' 'Lucky you haven't! If you'd provoked the hog you'd have been taken up sooner. What d'you think, it was no treat for me to have to bow to a hog? But I had to warn you, I wanted you to know what a friend you've got in me.' Kien was reflecting in the appearance of the hog. 'And I took him for an ordinary fiend,' he said, ashamed. 'That's what he is. Why shouldn't a fiend be a hog? Did you see his belly? There's a smell in the Theresianum ... but best say nothing about that.' 'What sort of smell?' 'You'll excite yourself.' "What sort of smell!' 'Promise you won't rush off there if I tell you? You'll only get yourself done in and not a book'll be any the better for it.'