Matters were getting critical now: Holm sat looking steadily in front of him, not daring to look round. The minutes were uncomfortably long, he felt as if he were on a switchback, or in the throes of approaching sea-sickness.
"2400—two thousand four hundred pounds offered, gentlemen. Any advance on 2400? 2400, going——"
Holm was on the verge of apoplexy now. What if he should have to present that bill for repairs to himself, after all?
Skipper Heil moved over to Hermansen and whispered in his ear. All were turned towards the pair—all save Holm, who sat as before, stiff as a statue in his place, looking rigidly before him.
The auctioneer stood with his hammer raised, his eyes on the banker in his corner.
"Going—going——"
"2500," said the banker. At last!
Holm gave a start as if something had pricked him behind, and looked across with a curious expression at Hermansen, who sat as impassive as ever.
The hammer fell. Holm went across to the banker, raised his hat and bowed. "Congratulations, my dear sir; the vessel's yours. A little faulty in the bottom, as I mentioned before, but still, taking it all round, I should say it was quite a fair deal!"
Holm went out into the street, and, meeting Bramsen, who had been present out of curiosity, took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Bramsen, my boy, I've got him this time. Hermansen's let himself in for it with a vengeance!"