He plunged his hands into his pocket and drew out a wad of banknotes. He pushed it across to Josaphat over the black, polished mirror-like table. Josaphat clutched at it, leaving his nail marks behind on the table-top and threw it into Slim’s face. He caught it with a nimble, thought-swift movement, and gently laid it back on the table. He laid a second one beside it. “Is that enough?” he asked sleepily. “No—!” shouted Josaphat’s laughter. “Sensible!” said Slim. “Very sensible. Why should you not make full use of your advantages. An opportunity like this, to raise your whole life by one hundred rungs, to become independent, happy, free, the fulfilment of every wish, the satisfaction of every whim—to have your own, and a beautiful woman before you, will come only once in your life and never again. Seize it, Josaphat, if you are not a fool! In strict confidence: The beautiful woman of whom we spoke just now has already been informed and is awaiting you near the aeroplane which is standing ready for the journey.... Three times the price, Josaphat, if you do not keep the beautiful woman waiting!” He laid the third bundle of banknotes on the table. He looked at Josaphat. Josaphat’s reddened eyes devoured his. Josaphat’s hands fumbled across blindly and seized the three brown wads. His teeth showed white under his lips; while his fingers tore the notes to shreds, they seemed to be biting them to death. Slim shook his head. “That’s of no account,” he said undisturbedly. “I have a cheque-book here, some of the blank leaves of which bear the signature, Joh Fredersen. Let us write a sum on the first leaf—a sum the double of the amount agreed upon up to now.... Well, Josaphat?” “I will not—!” said the other, shaken from head to foot. Slim smiled. “No,” he said. “Not yet.... But very soon....” Josaphat did not answer. He was staring at the piece of paper, white, printed and written on, which lay before him on the blue-black table. He did not see the figure upon it. He only saw the name upon it: Joh Fredersen. The signature, as though written with the blade of an axe: Joh Fredersen. Josaphat turned his head this way and that as though he felt the blade of the axe at his neck. “No,” he croaked. “No, no, no...!” “Not enough yet?” asked Slim. “Yes!” said he in a mutter. “Yes! It is enough.” Slim got up. Something which he had drawn from his pocket with the bundles of banknotes, without his having noticed it, slid down from his knees. It was a black cap, such as the workmen in Joh Fredersen’s works used to wear.... A howl escaped Josaphat’s lips. He threw himself down on both knees. He seized the black cap in both hands. He snatched it to his mouth. He stared at Slim. He jerked himself up. He sprang, like a stag before the pack, to gain the door.