Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

Morton nodded.

The Jew then resumed his cringing manner and, backing softly to the door, he slipped the bolt back and passed through, whining aloud in his sing-song tones: “I thank your Honor for your indulgence. I hope you will let me show you the articles I spoke of. I can also exchange foreign money for our own. I have beautiful jewelry that would please your ladies, and very fine Turkish arms and antiques to show you. The best and rarest articles from Persia and Anatolia can be found in our town. I am your obedient servant—Good night! and thank you, your Honor.”

The last words came up to Morton from the bottom of the stairway and were accompanied by the sound of the man’s feet shuffling along the hallway.

Things were developing! Morton blew out his candle and felt his way to the tap-room where he found the promised supper awaiting him. The landlord looked unconcerned and served him rather surlily and with ill-concealed indifference. Sitting at a small table in the corner, and removed from the range of an oil lamp suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the room, sat a man apparently engrossed in the contents of a black bottle before him. Ah—this, then, was the explanation for the Jew’s caution! The fellow did not even glance at Morton, foreigner as he must have struck any native to be. He was evidently there for a purpose. Morton took no notice of him, but busied himself in doing justice to the savory dishes provided for him. He took his time about eating and ordered a bottle of wine which he found excellent.

His hunger appeased, he invited the landlord to help him finish the bottle. The landlord, nothing loth, drank heartily and answered readily the questions Morton put to him, which related only to horses and hunting, and took a second bottle to satisfy. And still the man in the corner said not a word, but kept on sipping the liquid in his glass and staring vacantly before him. When Morton had finished, he bade the landlord good night and ascended the stairs to his room.

In spite of his first distaste for the bed, Morton found it more inviting now that he had had a decent meal and was feeling the effects of the wine he had drunk with the landlord. He slept very soundly, though his sleep was filled with dreams of running fights with rough men and hairy beasts, of scaling rocky heights and sliding into deep pits, of detectives following him wherever he went and of a greasy-looking Jew grinning at him.

When he awoke, the full daylight was slanting through the openings of the blinds. He was soon dressed and in the tap-room eating his breakfast. His meal finished, he lit a cigar and walked carelessly down the street.

Keeping to the right, he found, as Rosen had told him, a boy, under the third tree, deeply intent on playing with some glass balls. Before he had approached to within some yards of the spot, the urchin had collected his marbles and was throwing and catching his fez in the air. When he had almost reached the lad, the little fellow ran off and disappeared through a low door in a plastered wall. Morton noted the spot and, walking nonchalantly, passed through it, with a carelessness of manner that betokened utter indifference.

He now found himself in a narrow garden plot bordered by a red brick walk. There was little enough in the garden to attract the attention—only a bed or two of autumn flowers, and at the far end, a grape vine roofing a small rustic kiosk. Beyond, the view was cut off by a low rambling structure with heavy tile roofing, the weather-worn eaves of which were covered with deep moss. There was no sign of life anywhere, except the chattering of a few sparrows in the dense boxwood hedge along the walk, and the cooing of some pigeons strutting on the brick walk.

Remembering the Jew’s instructions, he threw away his cigar and turned to his right. A green door in the plastered building confronted him. When he had closed the door behind him a voice from the dark shadows of the hallway called out: “Who is there?” He gave his name to the invisible interlocutor and added that he had come to see the crucifix Herr Rosen had for sale.