Cherami walked to the rear of the building, and entered a room where an elderly clerk, half reclining on a ledger, was adding columns of figures.
"Will you kindly tell me where I can find my friend Gustave?"
The clerk made no reply, but continued to mutter:
"Forty-five, fifty-two, four, six, sixty."
"Is this old fossil afflicted with deafness, I wonder?" said Cherami to himself.—"I ask you, monsieur," he added aloud, "to direct me to the desk—the office—the chamber of my friend Gustave; don't you hear me?"
"Eight and eight are sixteen—and sixteen, thirty-two."
"Sacrebleu! we've known for a long while that eight and eight are sixteen! Is it such nonsense as that that keeps you from answering me?"
As he spoke, Cherami seized the old clerk's collar and shook him roughly. He turned upon his assailant in a rage, exclaiming:
"I am adding my balances, monsieur; and when I am adding, no one has any right to disturb me—do you hear?"
"Well, well! you are another pretty specimen, you are! They ought to frame you and hang you up in the water-closet!"