Silbermann thanked him almost exuberantly, ran down the stairs, hurried to the ticket counter, and purchased a ticket to Berlin. Then he stepped out of the station for a bit of fresh air. Dresden, he thought. I’ve been here so many times. Isn’t this where Solm & Co. have their headquarters? Good clients. I could drop in and say hello. Better not, though. And they’re not very good when it comes to paying on time, either. Always insisting on bills of exchange. Just thinking about what happened to Fanter & Son makes me dizzy. Sixteen thousand marks they lost in one blow. What could they have been thinking? Such a solid old firm and then all of a sudden …

He went back inside the station. Out of habit he approached the ticket counter. Then he remembered that he’d already bought a ticket. He pulled it out of his pocket along with a jumble of banknotes. The Reichsbahn really ought to give me a discount, he thought. All of a sudden he felt ill, and the station hall began spinning around him. He saw trains arriving and departing, heard horns honking, bells ringing, wheels rattling, words close by and far away, loud and quiet …

He fell to the floor.

A woman screamed. Officials came running and people pressed close to see what had happened. One man bent over him, opened Silbermann’s coat, jacket, vest, and shirt and placed his ear to Silbermann’s chest.

“His heart’s fine,” he said calmly. “It’s just a passing weak spell.”

Then some medics arrived and picked him up and took him to an ambulance.

When Silbermann came to, he was puzzled to find himself in a hospital room. He sat up, looked around, stroked his forehead, felt a dull pain, and wondered where he might be.

I was traveling, he remembered. I had been in Munich … no, I went back to Berlin … then I was in Dresden … then … no, I must still be in Dresden.

As if reassured by that supposition, he let himself slide back into the pillows. Apart from the fact that my head hurts, I’m fine, he was somewhat pleased to note. Then he gave a start.

“Where’s my briefcase?” he asked loudly.

He noticed a call bell hanging by his bed. He pressed the button two, three times. An older nurse came in.

“Nurse, where is my briefcase?” Silbermann asked immediately, as he sat up in the bed.

“Calm down,” she answered, holding her palms out.

“I want to know where my briefcase is!” Silbermann demanded.

“I’m sure they have it in safekeeping.”

“Nurse, I want to point out that there are approximately thirty-five thousand marks in that briefcase!”

“You don’t mean it!” she said, surprised.

“Yes I do,” he bellowed, excitedly. “Thirty-five thousand marks. And don’t think for a minute I’m going to let that—”

“Don’t make such a racket!”

“I demand to speak with the director immediately!”