the latter stood shuffling from one foot to the other. He picked up the telephone and listened for a moment to the hasty and garbled report. He turned pale, replaced the receiver and offered his guest an armchair.
“Humble perhaps, but somewhat impatient,” Risse remarked. “What can I do for you, Counsellor?”
“My nephew, Erwin Mock, lost a sum of money in your casino this evening. I’d like to know how much,” Mock said, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. “My further requests depend on that.”
Risse pushed a Chinese porcelain container full of blue-striped cigarettes towards Mock. Mock lit one and stared at the beautiful coffee service. The delicate design of bamboo shoots weaving around the cups, pot and sugar-bowl reminded him of his old, passing fascination with the Orient. The steam that emanated from the pot was inviting.
“Your nephew was out of luck today. He lost a thousand marks. He took on credit for them, saying he was a relative of yours. We only grant credit when we’re sure it will be paid back the following day, at the latest.”
“Card debts are debts of honour.” Mock turned his hat in his fingers. “I don’t know whether I can repay it by tomorrow. I would be grateful if you would grant us an extension.” He thought of having to pay Beck for the stole. “I’ll settle my nephew’s debt the day after tomorrow.”
“We are renowned, Counsellor,” Risse said, his cheeks and double-chin undulating, “for not allowing our clients to defer repayment of debts. This ruthlessness is our trump. Our clients stand eye to eye with their fate, a challenge with an illusory opponent, if you prefer, and they know that this opponent is hard and uncompromising. He must be faced with an open visor. Last week, Prince Hermann III von Kaunitz borrowed a certain sum from us which he soon lost. We lend money only once. Von Kaunitz was here on a Saturday, and on Sundays the banks and cheque administration are closed. A conto , he had to leave some family jewellery with us. And what does your nephew have to leave? It is a good thing you appeared when you did. My men can be very ruthless with insolvent clients.”
“Aren’t you going to offer me some coffee?” Mock said, no longer reciting Horace in his mind. “I’ll have to think over this sales patter of yours.”
Risse huffed. He neither said nor did anything. Mock poured himself some coffee and went to the window.
“I wouldn’t dare break such sacred principles,” he said. “You, Risse, will simply lend me the sum. Privately. As to a good friend. And I’ll give it back to you during the week and never forget your friendly gesture.”
“I would very much like to be a good friend of yours, Counsellor,” smiled Risse. “But as yet I am not.”
Mock slowly drank his coffee and strolled about the room. His attention was caught by a Japanese painting of fighting samurais.
“Do you know what happens when I carry out a search?” he asked. “I’m very exacting. If there is something I cannot find, I get annoyed, and I have to off-load my reaction accordingly. And do you know how? I simply demolish. Destroy.”
Mock approached the table and picked up the pot of coffee. He poured himself a small amount and added sugar.
“And just at this moment I’m very annoyed,” he said, holding his cup in one hand and the pot of coffee in the other.
“But this isn’t a search,” Risse observed intelligently.
Mock shattered the cup against the tiled stove. Risse’s expression changed, but he sat quite still. Mock trampled the shards of the cup with his heels, turning them to crunching grains.
“I’ll bring you a backdated search warrant tomorrow,” he said, taking a wide swing. “Can you bear the tension, Risse? Are you going to allow this coffee pot to be destroyed?”
Risse pressed a button under his desk. When he saw this, Mock threw the coffee pot against the wall; black streams of coffee flowed down to the floor. Next he pulled out a
“Humble perhaps, but somewhat impatient,” Risse remarked. “What can I do for you, Counsellor?”
“My nephew, Erwin Mock, lost a sum of money in your casino this evening. I’d like to know how much,” Mock said, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. “My further requests depend on that.”
Risse pushed a Chinese porcelain container full of blue-striped cigarettes towards Mock. Mock lit one and stared at the beautiful coffee service. The delicate design of bamboo shoots weaving around the cups, pot and sugar-bowl reminded him of his old, passing fascination with the Orient. The steam that emanated from the pot was inviting.
“Your nephew was out of luck today. He lost a thousand marks. He took on credit for them, saying he was a relative of yours. We only grant credit when we’re sure it will be paid back the following day, at the latest.”
“Card debts are debts of honour.” Mock turned his hat in his fingers. “I don’t know whether I can repay it by tomorrow. I would be grateful if you would grant us an extension.” He thought of having to pay Beck for the stole. “I’ll settle my nephew’s debt the day after tomorrow.”
“We are renowned, Counsellor,” Risse said, his cheeks and double-chin undulating, “for not allowing our clients to defer repayment of debts. This ruthlessness is our trump. Our clients stand eye to eye with their fate, a challenge with an illusory opponent, if you prefer, and they know that this opponent is hard and uncompromising. He must be faced with an open visor. Last week, Prince Hermann III von Kaunitz borrowed a certain sum from us which he soon lost. We lend money only once. Von Kaunitz was here on a Saturday, and on Sundays the banks and cheque administration are closed. A conto , he had to leave some family jewellery with us. And what does your nephew have to leave? It is a good thing you appeared when you did. My men can be very ruthless with insolvent clients.”
“Aren’t you going to offer me some coffee?” Mock said, no longer reciting Horace in his mind. “I’ll have to think over this sales patter of yours.”
Risse huffed. He neither said nor did anything. Mock poured himself some coffee and went to the window.
“I wouldn’t dare break such sacred principles,” he said. “You, Risse, will simply lend me the sum. Privately. As to a good friend. And I’ll give it back to you during the week and never forget your friendly gesture.”
“I would very much like to be a good friend of yours, Counsellor,” smiled Risse. “But as yet I am not.”
Mock slowly drank his coffee and strolled about the room. His attention was caught by a Japanese painting of fighting samurais.
“Do you know what happens when I carry out a search?” he asked. “I’m very exacting. If there is something I cannot find, I get annoyed, and I have to off-load my reaction accordingly. And do you know how? I simply demolish. Destroy.”
Mock approached the table and picked up the pot of coffee. He poured himself a small amount and added sugar.
“And just at this moment I’m very annoyed,” he said, holding his cup in one hand and the pot of coffee in the other.
“But this isn’t a search,” Risse observed intelligently.
Mock shattered the cup against the tiled stove. Risse’s expression changed, but he sat quite still. Mock trampled the shards of the cup with his heels, turning them to crunching grains.
“I’ll bring you a backdated search warrant tomorrow,” he said, taking a wide swing. “Can you bear the tension, Risse? Are you going to allow this coffee pot to be destroyed?”
Risse pressed a button under his desk. When he saw this, Mock threw the coffee pot against the wall; black streams of coffee flowed down to the floor. Next he pulled out a
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