Roland, of course, agreed; he always agreed with people. It was thus that he had earned the reputation of being good company, and at this moment, even if he had held contrary opinions as to the relations of the moment and the man, he would have been unable to develop them in an argument. He was too busy wondering how best he could turn this discovery to his advantage. And it was not long before the thought was suggested to him that this card might very easily procure him the desired interview with Herr Haupsehr. It was a risky game of course, but then what wasn’t risky in high finance? It was quite possible that Herren Haupsehr and Brumenhein were the oldest of friends, that awkward questions would be asked and his deceit discovered. But, even if it was, he could, at the worst, only be kicked downstairs, and that was an indignity he could survive. It would destroy for ever the possibility of any negotiations between himself and the German firm, but that, also, was no serious drawback, for, as things were, there seemed little enough prospect of opening an account. He could not see how he would be in any the worse position were he to fail—whereas if he brought it off.... It was a dazzling thought.
And so at eleven o’clock next morning Roland presented himself at the entrance of Herr Haupsehr’s office. He asked no questions; he made no respectful inquiry as to whether at that moment Herr Haupsehr was, or was not, engaged. He assumed that whatever occupied that gentleman’s attention would be instantly removed on the announcement that a friend of Herr Brumenhein’s was in the building. Roland said nothing. He flourished his card in the face of the young lady who stood behind the door marked “Inquiries.”
“You wish to see Herr Haupsehr?”
Roland bowed, and the young lady disappeared. She returned within a minute.
“If you will please to follow me, sir.”
He was conducted through the counting-house and into the main corridor, up a flight of stairs, along another corridor, till they reached a door marked “Private,” before which the young lady stopped. Roland made an interrogatory gesture of the hand toward it.
“If you please, sir,” she said.
Roland did not knock at the door. He turned the handle and entered the room with the gracious condescension of a general who is forced to visit a company office. It was a large room, with a warm fire and easy chairs and an old oak desk. But Herr Haupsehr was not sitting at his desk; he had advanced into the center of the room, where he stood rubbing his hands one against the other. Some men reach a high position through truculence, others through subservience, and Herr Haupsehr belonged to the second class. He was a little man with a bald head and with heavy pouches underneath his eyes. He fidgeted nervously, and it was hard to recognize in this obsequious figure the dictator of that letter of stern refusal.
“Yes,” he said, “you are a friend of Herr Brumenhein?” In the eyes of Herr Haupsehr had appeared annoyance and a slight distrust at the sight of so young a visitor, but the sound of the magic name recalled him to servility.
“Yes,” he repeated, “yes; and what is it that I may have the honor to do for a friend of Herr Brumenhein?”