The Marquis of Bolibar by Leo Perutz

of its ingenious and unusual design. It had a wind-chest, pipework, fluework, and reedwork. There were also rows of stops which Donop manipulated and enumerated, each of them having a different name. One was called the principal, another the bourdon or drone, another the spitz-gamba, another the quinte-viola, another the great sub- bass, and yet another the gemshorn. "Curious names," mused Brockendorf, "and yet, for all these flutes, pipes and oboes, one cannot strike up an air that's fit for dancing, only a wretched 'Benedicat vos'." "But one can play fugues and toccatas, preludes and interludes," said Donop, springing to the defence of his instrument. "Tread the bellows for me," Brockendorf urged him. "I've a mind to see if I can manage a 'Gloria'." And he began to sing in a raucous voice. Our worthy curate, woe, alas forgot his Latin during Mass. Kyrie eleison! Donop crouched down behind the corpus and trod the bellows while Brockendorf ran both hands wildly over the keys, and all at once the organ emitted a thin, shrill note like the squeak of a rat. Faint as it was, it startled Donop and Brockendorf and sent them scampering down the stairs as fast as if the Devil himself were at their heels. "Brockendorf!" roared Eglofstein. "Come down here, you raving lunatic! You've lost your wits!" Brockendorf stood there panting, still aghast that the organ should so suddenly have come to life and squeaked like a rat. "I meant to strike up a jig for young Günther," he said. "Like it