That seemed very likely, so Gyuri went and looked up the list of things that had been sold at the auction. All sorts of things were mentioned—tables, chairs, cupboards, coats, etc.—but there was no mention of an umbrella. He read it over ten times, but it was of no use, he could find no mention of it, unless the following could be considered as such.
"Various useless objects, bought for two florins by the white Jew."
Perhaps the umbrella was one of those useless objects, and had been bought by the "white Jew." Well, the first thing was to find the "white Jew." But who was he? For in those good old days there were not as many Jews in Hungary as there are now; there were perhaps one or two in the town, so it was easy to find them; for one was called "red," another "gray," another "white," a fourth "black," according to the color of their hair; and by means of these four colors the townsfolk were able to distinguish any Jew who lived in their town. But now there were some hundred Jewish families, and heaven had not increased the shades of their hair to such an extent that each family could be distinguished in the old way.
It was not difficult to find out about the old Jew, and Gyuri soon knew that he was called Jónás Müncz, and it was very likely he had bought the things, for all the coats and vests found their way into his tiny shop in Wheat Street, before starting on the second chapter of their existence.
Many people remember the little shop in which top-boots, cloaks, and dresses hung on nails, and the following announcement was written with chalk on the door:
"Only the lilies of the field can dress themselves cheaper than you can in this shop!"
(That was quite true, only with this difference, that the lilies of the field were more becomingly dressed than Müncz's customers.)
In spite of all this information Gyuri was by no means satisfied, so he walked across the road to his old guardian's to see if he could find out anything more on the subject from him, for he had been the first lawyer in the town for many years, and must know every one.
The young man told Sztolarik the whole story, openly and frankly, adding that the receipt for the money, which was probably deposited in some foreign bank, was all but found, for it was most certainly in the handle of the red umbrella, and that had in all probability been bought by an old Jew of the name of Jónás Müncz. All of this Gyuri poured out quickly and breathlessly into the ears of his old guardian.
"That much I know. Now, what am I to do next?"