The other thanked him and reached into the case. Silbermann couldn’t help noticing the man’s hand. It was red and chapped, and several nails had been split and hadn’t grown back properly. Suddenly Silbermann realized that the other man had no suitcase.

Perhaps he’s running from the law, he thought for a moment. But then he observed the man’s ruddy cheeks and anxious expression, and when he noticed his brown eyes Silbermann decided instead that he was sharing the compartment with a Jewish tradesman trying to escape. He considered it unlikely that the man was a con artist, given his staid, petit-bourgeois demeanor, but Silbermann nevertheless decided he needed to make sure.

“Hard times,” he said, quite slowly.

The other man eyed him suspiciously.

“Indeed,” he concurred, with a serious tone, but then quickly added, probably to be on the safe side and neutralize his agreement, “depending on how you look at it.”

“Are you traveling on business?” asked Silbermann with polite interest.

The other man reached below his ankle to scratch, bending so low that his face could no longer be seen. “Yes,” he muttered. Then he sat up and said, without looking at Silbermann, “Well then, good night.”

“Good night,” Silbermann replied.

“Shall I turn off the light?” the man asked.

“It can stay on as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s fine with me, too.”

For a few minutes both men were silent, but then the newcomer asked, very quietly, as if he were afraid Silbermann might already be asleep, “When do you think the train will be in Aachen?”

“Sometime around twelve, I think,” answered Silbermann, also instinctively whispering.

“Thank you.”

More minutes passed. Then Silbermann asked if the other man would mind if he opened the door to the corridor, to let the smoke out.

As if he’d been given an order, the other man leapt to his feet. “Not at all,” he said, and slid the door about ten centimeters to the side. He sat back down and asked, now more bravely, “Are you traveling abroad?”

“No,” said Silbermann, “and you?”

“Me neither,” the other was quick to reply. “I’m traveling on business,” he then quickly added, as if he’d already forgotten Silbermann’s earlier question and his own answer, and as though traveling on business necessarily meant staying in the country.

“That’s right, of course,” said Silbermann. The other man had turned to face him, but when Silbermann tried to look him in the eye he averted his gaze. “What line of business are you in, if I might ask?”

I’m making him afraid, thought Silbermann. But I have to know! If he’s not trying to get out of the country, then he must be a criminal. And I don’t want to fall asleep in the same compartment as a criminal. After all, I have my entire fortune in my briefcase.

“I deal in furniture,” said the other man quickly. Too quickly, it seemed to Silbermann, who had now grown suspicious.

“Do you have good sales agents?” he asked.