# Krakatit/Chapter 22

CHAPTER XXII
“I must set to work methodically,” Prokop decided. Good; and after reflecting for a long time and having a series of remarkable inspirations he evolved a course of action. . . .
To begin with, he inserted the following announcement in all the papers: “Mr. Thomas. The messenger with a wounded hand asks the lady in the veil for her address. Very important. P. Write ‘40,000’ to Box Office.” This formulation of the inquiry seemed to him to be very ingenious; he certainly did not know whether the young lady read the newspapers, and especially advertisements, at all, but still, who knows? Chance is a powerful factor. But instead of chance, circumstances came about which could have been foreseen, but which Prokop had not anticipated. In answer to the advertisement he received piles of correspondence, consisting mostly of bills, reminders, threats and insults addressed to the missing Thomas: “Let Mr. Thomas in his own interest furnish his address . . .” and so on. Further, there wandered into the office of the paper a lean person who, when Prokop called for the answers to his advertisement, stepped up to him and asked him where Mr. Thomas lived. Prokop was as rude to him as the circumstances permitted, whereupon the lean person produced his ​authority out of his pocket and emphatically warned Prokop not to misbehave himself. It was a question of a certain embezzlement and other disreputable matters. Prokop was able to convince the lean person that he himself was inordinately desirous of knowing where Mr. Thomas lived; after this adventure and after studying the replies to his advertisement his faith in the efficacy of such a method was seriously weakened. In any case the replies steadily decreased in number, becoming on the other hand more threatening in tone.
The next thing he did was to go to a private detective agency. There he explained that he was looking for a mysterious girl in a veil and attempted to describe her. The agency was quite prepared to furnish him with perfectly discreet information regarding her if only he could tell them her name, or address. There was nothing for him to do but to go away.
Then he got an inspiration of genius. In the package, which never left him day or night, there was, besides a number of smaller bank-notes, thirty thousand crowns done up in a wrapper, as is usually the custom when banks pay out large sums of money. The name of the bank was not on it; but it was at least highly probable that the girl had drawn the money from some institution or other the day that Prokop left for Tynice. Well, all he had to do was to find the exact date and then go round all the banks in Prague and ask them to give him the name of the person who on that day drew out thirty thousand crowns or something about that figure. Yes, to find the exact date; Prokop was ​certain that Krakatit had exploded on a Tuesday and it was probable that the girl had drawn the money on a Wednesday; but Prokop was uncertain of both the week and the month; it might have been in February or in March.
He made a tremendous effort to remember, or at least to calculate, when it was; but all his speculations were nullified by the fact that he had no idea how long he had lain ill. Good; they certainly must know at Tynice what week it was in which he descended upon them. Dazzled by this new hope, he sent a telegram to old Dr. Thomas: ‘Please telegraph date when I arrived at your house. Prokop.” He had scarcely sent off the wire when he was overcome with a feeling of remorse at having behaved so badly. To the telegram he obtained no answer. Just as he was about to abandon this trail it occurred to him that the caretaker’s wife at Thomas’s flat might remember the date. He flew off there; but the caretaker’s wife insisted that it was a Saturday. Prokop became desperate; then he received a letter written in the large and careful characters of a schoolgirl, to the effect that he had arrived at Tynice on such and such a day but that “father mustn’t know that I have written to you.” Nothing more. It was signed by Annie. For some some reason Prokop’s heart was torn by this couple of lines.
Now, having at last found the date he wanted, he rushed off to the nearest bank; could they tell him who on such and such a day had drawn, say, thirty thousand crowns? They shook their heads, saying that it was not the custom to furnish such informa​tion; but when they saw that he was completely disconcerted they consulted somebody behind and then asked him on whose account the money had been taken out; for certainly it had been drawn on a cheque, a deposit account or something of that sort. Naturally Prokop did not know. Further, they told him, it was possible that the person in question had only sold certain bills, in which case there would be no record of his name in their books. And when, finally, Prokop informed them that he had simply no idea whether the money was paid out by this particular bank or not they burst out laughing and inquired whether he was going round the two hundred and fifty-odd financial institutions, agencies and exchanges in Prague with the same question. So Prokop’s marvellous inspiration proved a complete failure.
There only remained the fourth possibility, the chance that he would meet her. Prokop tried to introduce method even into this possibility; he divided the map of Prague into sections and examined each one twice daily. One day he calculated the number of people he would meet in this way in one day and arrived at a total of nearly forty thousand; bearing in mind the total population of the city it worked out that the chances were one in twenty that he would meet her. Even this small probability gave him hope. There were certain streets and places in which she was more likely to reside, or along which she was likely to be walking; streets with acacias in bloom, venerable old squares, intimate corners of deep and serious life. It was surely impossible that she should be found in the ​sort of noisy and dreary street along which one only hurried. Nor amid the symmetrical desolation of characterless flats. Why, was it not possible that she lived behind those large, dark windows beyond which was to be found a shaded and refined quiet? Wandering as if in a dream, Prokop realized for the first time in his life what there was to be discovered in this town in which he had spent so many years of his existence; God! how many beautiful spots, where life unrolls itself, peaceful and mature, and entices one when one is distraught!
Numberless times Prokop dashed off in pursuit of young women who gave him the impression from a distance, for some reason, of being she whom he had only seen twice. He ran after them with a wildly beating heart; what if it should prove to be she! Heaven knows what instincts of divination led him to go after them. They were certainly mysterious, sad and beautiful, absorbed in themselves and wrapped in some sort of inaccessibility. Once he was almost certain that it was she; he was so excited that he had to stop for a moment to take breath; and at that moment the woman got into a tram and disappeared. For three days afterwards he waited near the stopping place, but never saw her again.
Worst of all were the evenings when, completely exhausted, he sat rubbing his hands on his knees and trying to evolve a new plan of campaign. God! he would never abandon the search for her; it may be that it was an obsession; that he was a lunatic, an idiot, a maniac; but he would never give up. The more she evaded him—the greater efforts ​would he make; it was . . . simply fate . . . or something.
Once he awoke in the middle of the night and it suddenly became inevitably clear to him that he would never find her in this way; that he would have to set out in search of George Thomas, who knew about her and could tell him what he wanted. Although it was the middle of the night he clothed himself, unable to wait until morning. He was unprepared for the incredible difficulties that awaited him in obtaining a passport; he could not understand what they wanted of him and alternately cursed and grew dejected in feverish impatience. Finally, finally the night came when an express carried him across the frontier. And now, to begin with, to Balttin!
Now it will be decided, Prokop felt.