He wanted to go out and look into this, but paused at the door. He went back to his desk again, leaned his head on his hands, and reflected. In reality the yacht did not belong to him any more; it was hers, Miss Lynum's; he had given it to her, and the papers were in her keeping. She had not returned these papers together with the ring; she might have forgotten it—how could he know? Anyway, the yacht was hers; he had nothing to do with it. But if it had been stolen? Well, even that was no affair of his.
Ole took up his pen again, but only for a few moments. Dear me, she used to sit there on the sofa and sew so busily on the little cushions! They had been so cute and tiny that it was almost absurd. There she used to sit; he could see her still….
And Ole wrote again.
Then he opened the door and called out to the clerks that the yacht had disappeared; what had happened?
One of the clerks informed him that the yacht had been removed this morning by two men from a lawyer's office; she was anchored outside the Fortress now.
"Which lawyer?" asked Ole.
The clerk didn't know.
Ole grew curious. The yacht was not his any more, of course; but Miss Lynum had no business with a lawyer either; there must be a misunderstanding somewhere. And straightway he went down to the Fortress landing and made inquiries for a couple of hours. Finally he learned the name of the lawyer and went to his office.
He saw a man of his own age and asked a few guarded questions.
Yes, it was quite true; he had orders to sell the yacht; as a matter of fact, he had already advanced a thousand crowns on it. Here were the papers; Irgens had left them with him, the poet Irgens. He hoped there were no objections?