There was a further pause. Every glance was now turned on the Gold-mine King, in expectation of the inevitable advance. It was sure to come, in all its brutal and crushing strength.
It did not come. Herschmann remained impassive, with his eyes fixed on a sheet of paper which he held in his right hand, while the other crumpled up the pieces of a torn envelope.
"Three hundred and five thousand," repeated the auctioneer. "Going ... going.... No further bid...?"
No one spoke.
"Once more: going ... going...."
Herschmann did not move. A last pause. The hammer fell.
"Four hundred thousand!" shouted Herschmann, starting up, as though the tap of the hammer had roused him from his torpor.
Too late. The diamond was sold.
Herschmann's acquaintances crowded round him. What had happened? Why had he not spoken sooner?