He returned to his seat at the writing desk. His eyes gazed at the plan of Pest-Buda, but he did not see anything of it. Every now and then his head twitched, as if he sought to shake up behind his forehead the dull, dense matter that refused to act. He sighed and desisted from the effort. He shut his eyes. But now that he wanted to rest, his brain became active and a whirling chaos moved about it. He thought suddenly of Christopher.
Otto Füger entered quietly through the door. Cold rage was in his eye and his lips were compressed and straight. But as soon as he came within the light of the lamps he was already smiling.
John Hubert continued his reflections aloud:
“Somebody mentioned Christopher’s name to-day at the money-changer’s. The clerk spoke of him behind the counter. When I turned to them they caught their breath. I can’t understand it.” He looked anxiously at young Füger. “Do you know anything?”
Otto Füger did not answer at once. At this moment he hated furiously everybody living in that house. He hated the others because of Anne and on account of that stuck-up Illey whose looks always passed above his head. Now he had his chance to revenge himself on them for having been born in the back-lodgings of an insignificant book-keeper, for being poor and striving vainly. He looked humbly to the ground and feigned to suffer from the painful necessity of his disclosures.
“It is hard on me to have to betray Mr. Christopher. I have always tried to restrain him, I have implored him....”
“What is going on behind my back?” John Hubert’s voice bubbled out heavily between his blanched lips.
When the whole truth was revealed to him, he repeated painfully:
“He gambles ... the whole town knows it.... He loses ... bills of exchange?...” He asked terrified: “What is the amount?”
“One hundred and eighty thousand florins....”