Gurdweill suddenly succumbed to an attack of growing melancholy, for which he could see no evident reason. Impatiently he turned to the window on his right, which overlooked a smallish courtyard, a hand-barrow with its shafts resting on the ground, and a blind wall whose upper half was illuminated by yellow sunshine. He felt quite indifferent to the results of the interview. All he wanted was to be far away from here, from this room with its stale, mouldy smell, as if it had not been aired for years, and from this peculiar creature with his meaningless chatter and fictitious quotations, for whom he already felt a definite hostility, as if he had known and disliked him for years. Coming to a sudden decision to put an end to the interview at once, he turned to face his interlocutor. And then something very strange happened to Gurdweill: instead of Dr Kreindel’s face he saw the alabaster face of the drowned girl, as he had seen it before on the banks of the canal; he saw it quite clearly with the scar on the cheekbone and the matted auburn hair. A shiver ran down his spine. He stood up and sat down again. He looked closely at Dr Kreindel’s face, and this time he saw it as it was, with its long nose and dark, fleshy chin.

‘My nerves are playing tricks on me,’ he said to himself. ‘That’s all it is — nerves.’ Then he remembered the fictitious quotations, and a weak smile flashed across his face as it occurred to him to respond with a learned quotation of his own.

‘Yes, indeed,’ he said solemnly, ‘the book trade is a noble calling. As Mitzelberg says: The treasures of the human mind find their salvation … et cetera, et cetera …’

‘Hee-hee, who did you say, Mitzelberg? Well said, sir! Or should I say — well said, Mitzelberg!’ And suddenly coming to the point: ‘The matter has not yet been decided. Concerning your employment in my firm, that is to say. First we have to decide if we need additional staff. If you will be kind enough to drop by in a few days’ time — in two weeks’ time, shall we say, in the morning — I should be able to give you a definite reply.’

Gurdweill said goodbye and left. He was unwilling to admit to himself how pleased he was at the negative result of the interview. As always in similar circumstances he felt as if he had been saved at the last minute from a prison sentence. He needed a job and he had done his duty. What could he do if fate placed obstacles in his way? If only he didn’t have to feed his accursed stomach!