The big brother was taking up his overcoat. “Yes, that’s true . . . many years. Life is a long business.”
The two brothers were standing, embarrassed, not knowing how to take leave of each other. The big brother bent his head as if seeking something, some good, pure word. He was making an effort to smile, he was moving his lips quietly.
“Do you need money?” he suddenly said. “I have enough.”
“No, no,” replied Boura, moved and happy, “no, thank you, it is not worth while. But it is nice of you all the same. God be with you!”
The big brother grumbled hesitatingly: “Come, why not? I don’t need it myself. Well, as you like. Then, good-bye!”
He was going away, tall and straight. Holecek followed him with his eyes as far as the door and saw his last farewell gesture.
Boura had lowered his eyes.
“He has forgotten his stick,” said Holecek, and ran to follow the departing one. Besides, he was glad of an excuse to leave Boura to himself for a moment. He heard footsteps in the staircase above him.
“Here! Sir!”
Only two leaps and he had climbed to the entrance door, but the street was empty as far along as he could see. A wet snow was falling that melted on touching the ground.
Astounded, he looked in the lobby. Nothing. Two figures detached themselves from the wall: two policemen.
“Has some one not just rushed out?” asked Holecek, quite blown.
“What has he stolen?”
“Nothing. Where did he go to?”
“Nobody went out,” said one of the policemen. “Since we have been here no one has come out of the cellar.”
“We have been here fully ten minutes,” volunteered the other.
“He must be within still.”
“No!” retorted Holecek. “He was just in front of me. He had forgotten his stick.”
