“Do you remember it all, Stellan? Those were fine times, weren’t they, Stellan? My old home. It is a damned shame. What have I done with it all now? I am a traitor. Yes, a traitor. Curse it!”
Stellan, cold and numb, felt a shock pass through him. Was this how matters stood? Was it as bad as that with Kolsnäs?
“What nonsense are you talking?” he muttered.
Manne stared anxiously at him:
“Stellan, old man, it ... you had better not go to the bank with my cheque ... not tomorrow, anyway....”
“Why not?”
“Because there is nothing there, not a farthing.”
“You ought to have told Levy that. He won it from me.”
For the second time a shock passed through Stellan, as he pronounced Levy’s name. But Manne sank back in the chair staring straight out in front of him:
“I shall have to clear out,” he muttered, half crying. “Tomorrow I shall have to get away. What will ‘the Glove’ say?”