“So!” said the doctor for the fourth time, and held out his hand.
Gurther slipped his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and took out a gold cigarette-case. The doctor opened it and looked at the five cigarettes that reposed, at the two halves of the long holder neatly lying in their proper place, closed the case with a snap and laid it on the table.
“What shall I do with you, Gurther? To-morrow the police will come and search this house.”
“There is the cellar, Herr Doktor: it is very comfortable there. I would prefer it.”
Dr. Oberzohn made a gesture like a boy wiping something from a slate.
“That is not possible: it is in occupation,” he said. “I must find a new place for you.” He stared and mused. “There is the boat,” he said.
Gurther’s smile did not fade.
The boat was a small barge, which had been drawn up into the private dock of the O. & S. factory, and had been rotting there for years, the playing-ground of rats, the doss-house of the homeless. The doctor saw what was in the man’s mind.
“It may be comfortable. I will give you some gas to kill the rats, and it will only be for five-six days.”
“Ja, Herr Doktor.”