“That’s all right, that’s all right....” Freder’s smile came back again and stood, clear and beautiful in his tired face. “I am going now, Josaphat. I want to go to my father’s mother, to take her something which is very sacred to me.... I shall be here again before evening. Shall I find you here then?” “Yes, Mr. Freder, most certainly!” They stretched out their hands towards each other. Hand held hand, gripped. They looked at each other. Glance held glance, gripped. Then they loosened their grip in silence and Freder went. A little while later (Josaphat was still standing on the same spot on which Freder had left him) there came a knock at the door. Though the knocking was as gentle, as modest, as the knocking of one who has come to beg, there was something in it which chased a shiver down Josaphat’s spine. He stood still, gazing at the door, incapable of calling out “Come in,” or of opening it himself. The knocking was repeated, becoming not in the least louder. It came for the third time and was still as gentle. But just that deepened the impression that it was inescapable, that it would be quite pointless to play deaf permanently. “Who is there?” asked Josaphat hoarsely. He knew very well who was standing outside. He only asked to gain time—to draw breath, which he badly needed. He expected no answer; neither did he receive one. The door opened. In the doorway stood Slim. They did not greet each other; neither greeted the other. Josaphat: because his gullet was too dry. Slim: because his all-observing eye had darted through the room in the second in which he put his foot on the threshold, and had found something: a black cap, lying on the floor. Josaphat followed Slim’s gaze with his eyes. He did not stir. With silent step Slim went up to the cap, stooped and picked it up. He twisted it gently this way and that, he twisted it inside out. In the sweat-sodden lining of the cap stood the number, 11811. Slim weighed the cap in almost affectionate hands. He fixed his eyes, which were as though veiled with weariness on Josaphat and asked, speaking in a low voice: “Where is Freder, Josaphat?” “I do not know....” Slim smiled sleepily. He fondled the black cap. Josaphat’s hoarse voice continued: “... But if I did know you would not get it out of me, anyway....” Slim looked at Josaphat, still smiling, still fondling the black cap. “You are quite right,” said he courteously. “I beg your pardon! It was an idle question. Of course you will not tell me where Mr. Freder is. Neither is it at all necessary.... It is quite another matter....” He pocketed the cap, having carefully rolled it up, and looked around the room. He went up to an armchair, standing near a low, black, polished table. “You permit me?” he asked courteously, seating himself. Josaphat made a movement of the head, but the “Please do so,” dried up in his throat. He did not stir from the one spot.