“Any advance, Mr. Strellenhaus?”
“Fifty-one.”
“Fifty-five.”
“Fifty-six.”
“Sixty.”
They could hardly believe their ears. Holloway stood with his mouth open, staring blankly in front of him. The salesman tried hard to look as if such bidding and such prices were nothing unusual. Jack Flynn of Kildare smiled benignly and rubbed his hands together. The crowd listened in dead silence.
“Sixty-one,” said Strellenhaus. From the beginning he had stood without a trace of emotion upon his round face, like a little automatic figure which bid by clockwork. His rival was of a more excitable nature. His eyes were shining, and he was for ever twitching at his beard.
“Sixty-five,” he cried.
“Sixty-six.”
“Seventy.”