"It is a lie!" came from a crack in the noiselessly opened door. At a child's height from the floor a fur cap was thrust in. The gray beard sticking out beyond the mangy headgear gave the old face a fierceness instantly contradicted by the eyes.
"I haf a letter," he said, trembling with excitement. "De money I send two mont' before Christmas it nefer come. De money my friend send t'ree veek before dat, it nefer come. You gif me my money back!" He came in, swinging his greasy coat-tails about his shambling legs. "Here is de baper to show you get my money."
The altercation went on in German, with excuses, threats. "Get out, or the police—"
"Oh, you vill not like bolice here."
There was righteous anger on the part of the man at the desk; but a certain caution, too. Nobody could say at a time like this that in one case out of thousands something wholly unforeseen might not happen to delay—
"It is not delayed!" the little man screamed. "It did not come! It vill not come! Vhere is it? Gif it back!"
"Ah-h, I remember you now!" the unlashed eyelids narrowed. "In your case, and to an address like that—"
"Vot de matter vid the address?" screamed the old man. "Berfectly goot address!"
"I warned you it would be wisest to insure." He turned bruskly away from the agitated figure. "I will talk to you when I've finished. These gentlemen are in a hurry."
"Not at all. No, certainly not." Hahn backed to the door. He would wait.