Elly blushed and stuttered. She had not exactly had secrets; it was only that uncle had been so obliging, and the last time she had met Kurt Brenckenberg he had promised that the song he had composed for her should be sent to her through Uncle Kutowski.
"If you will do such stupid things, Mouse," said Hertha, turning her back, "we can't go on being friends."
But Elly threw her arms around her from behind, and entreated and implored her to help her just this once. She would never do it again. And when she had sealed this vow with a solemn kiss and shake of the hand, Hertha consented to do what she could in advising her.
First of all it seemed advisable to reconnoitre the spot where the letter had been seen in the morning.
Hertha made a short cut through bushes and hedge to the bailiff's house, and Elly, who despite her agitation had not let go of the fat pug, obediently followed.
The bailiff's house was deserted as usual at this hour, and in consequence locked up. The only way to get in was through an open window at the back.
Hertha, who could climb like a squirrel, took the lead and dragged the trembling Elly after her; the pug, who was in danger of being strangled by the blue ribbon, was left behind, and barked as if he were mad at his vanishing mistresses.
They found themselves in Schumann's room, which was filled with an odour of onions and lamp-oil, for the head-bailiff was a bachelor and catered for himself, leaving unspeakable messes simmering for hours on a petroleum cooking-stove.
Elly could scarcely stand for fright, and even Hertha's heart beat perceptibly quicker. Till this moment she had never shrunk timidly from the boldest adventures; but now that the master of Halewitz ruled his possessions again, everything wore a different aspect.
She penetrated further without looking to right or left. The door, which led to the uncle's deserted apartments, was wide open. Within a repulsive spectacle was revealed. In one corner the old sofa lay in ruins, the bedstead was turned up against the wall, the cupboard doors were flung back on their hinges, and in all the places which had been mercifully hidden by carpet and bric-à-brac, dirt was laid bare, for the old sloven had let it accumulate for years. Long-legged, hairy spiders sat in the corners, and disturbed silver-grey wood-lice ran out of the cracks in the floor.