"Schloss Rothhoefen is yours, Count Tarnowsy," said I. "It is for you to say whether his whim shall be gratified."
His lips twitched. I saw his hand touch the bulging coat-pocket with a swift, passing movement.
"Will you be good enough to sign, Mr. Smart?" he said coldly. He glanced at his watch. "My time is valuable. When can you give possession?"
"The day the deed is transferred."
"That will be in less than three days. I have satisfied myself that the title is clear. There need be no delay."
We signed the contract after I had requested Poopendyke to read it aloud to me. It called for the payment of fifty thousand kronen, or a little over two thousand pounds sterling, at the time of signing. His lawyer handed me a package of crisp banknotes and asked me to count them. I did so deliberately, the purchaser looking on with a sardonic smile.
"Correct," said I, laying the package on the table. He bowed very deeply.
"Are you satisfied, Mr. Smart, that there are no counterfeits among them?" he inquired with polite irony. Then to his lawyer: "Take the gentleman's receipt for the amount in the presence of witnesses. This is a business transaction, not a game of chance." It was the insult perfect.
As he prepared to take his departure, he assumed an insinuating air of apology, and remarked to me:
"I owe you an apology, Mr. Smart. There was a time when I did you an injustice. I suspected you of keeping your mistress here. Pray forgive my error."