I hadn't much hope, but one could only try.
He was in his office.
"Do you want to sell your Cadillac?" I asked at once.
Blumenthal laughed.
"I've got somebody for it," I went on, "cash down."
"Cash down," replied Blumenthal after a moment's reflection. "That's a word of purest poetry these days—"
"That's my idea, too," said I, brightening suddenly. "Then how is it, can we talk it over?"
"One can always talk," observed Blumenthal.
"Good.
When can I see you?"
"This afternoon after lunch I have time.
Let's say around two, in the office here."
"Right."
I hung up.
"Otto," said I rather excitedly to Koster, "I never expected it, but I believe our old Cadillac is coming back."
Koster laid aside all his papers.
"Really?
Does he want to sell?"
I nodded and looked through the window to where Lenz was talking hard to the baker.
"He's making a mess of it," said I uncomfortably; "he's talking too much.
That baker's a tower of suspicion; you could only persuade him by saying nothing.
I must go out and relieve Gottfried at once."
Koster laughed.
"Right—neck or nothing, Bob."
I winked at him and went.
But I could hardly believe my ears: so far from singing premature hymns to the Cadillac, Gottfried was entirely engrossed in explaining to the baker how the South American Indians make their maize bread.
I gave him an approving glance and then turned to the baker:
"Unfortunately the chap doesn't want to sell—"
"What did I tell you?" said Lenz promptly, as if we had already discussed it.
I gave a shrug. "It's a pity—but I can understand—"
The baker stood there irresolute.
I looked at Lenz.
"Well, couldn't you try him again perhaps?" he asked immediately.
"I'm doing that in any case," I replied. "I've arranged anyway to see him this afternoon.
Where could I get hold of you afterwards?" I asked the baker.
"I'll be in the neighbourhood here around four.
I could look in again then."
"Good—I'll be sure to know definitely by then.
I hope we do pull it off."
The baker nodded.
Then he got into his Ford and steamed off.
"Are you quite God-forsaken?" burst out Lenz the moment he was round the corner. "No sooner do I get a good grip on the boy than you let him go, just like that."
"Logic and psychology, my dear Gottfried," I replied clapping him on the shoulder. "You don't understand that sort of thing yet."
He shook off my hand.
"Psychology—" said he contemptuously. "The best psychology is' a good opportunity.
And that was one.
The fellow will never come back."
"He'll be back at four o'clock—."
Gottfried looked at me pityingly.
"Will you bet?" he asked.