“Oh, that’s it! The firm might have spared itself that trouble; the whole amount was transmitted by my bank day before yesterday.”
“So much the better, then,” jested the official. “I have the honor.”
“Farewell, Herr Krause; I would say au revoir, but your visit always means a doubtful pleasure.”
When the man was gone, Borgert tore open the envelope and scanned the contents of the document it contained.
That was a most disagreeable business. The furniture had not yet been paid for, but already mortgaged, although the explicit terms of the contract forbade his doing so until after payment in full to the merchant had made the whole his own property.
Four thousand marks! A heap of money! He would have to speak to Leimann; perhaps he could do something.
Then suddenly he remembered that the bailiff had not passed out into the street through the front garden. He called his servant and asked him:
“Where did the man go to?”
“Upstairs, Herr First Lieutenant.”
“To Leimann’s?”