“It is not letters, it is money,” she said at last.
“No.”
There was a brief silence. Then Kamarowsky said: “I do not believe you. I wish to see what it contains.”
No one answered him.
“Where is the key?”
Again there was silence.
I heard a slight jingling sound; Kamarowsky was searching in his pockets for a penknife. Then he said to Elise: “You can go.”
Elise went slowly and reluctantly from the room. Then I heard a faint tearing and crackling: Kamarowsky had cut through the leather of the satchel. Now the rustling of banknotes told me that he was smoothing them out on the table, and counting them.
A few moments passed.