I had an inspiration.
"A moment!" I cried, and I added the word "Achilles" in a low voice.
The servant opened the door wide to me.
"Why didn't you say that at once?" he said. "Please step in. I will see if the Herr can receive you."
He led the way through a hall into a sitting-room and left me there. The place was a perfect museum of art treasures, old Dutch and Italian masters on the walls, some splendid Florentine chests, a fine old dresser loaded with ancient pewter. On a mantelshelf was an extraordinary collection of old keys, each with its label. "Key of the fortress of Spandau, 1715." "Key of the Postern Gate of the Pasha's Palace at Belgrade, 1810," "House Key from Nuremberg, 1567," were some of the descriptions I read.
Then a voice behind me said:
"Ah! you admire my little treasures!"
Turning, I saw a short, stout man, of a marked Jewish appearance, with a bald head, a fat nose, little beady eyes and a large waist.
"Eugen Kore!" he introduced himself with a bow.
"Meyer!" I replied, in the German fashion.