They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [176]
It was true that that ticket had meant something special to Laszlo, though it was doubtful whether he ever realized he still had it in the pocket of the suit he had never worn again after that day at the King’s Cup race in Budapest when he had promised Klara Kollonich never again to gamble. In the grandstand he had said to her ‘I promise!’ and they had shaken hands on it. So as to mislead anyone who was standing near and might have heard these solemn words and seen the mysterious handshake and wondered what they signified, she had given him ten crowns and asked him to put them on a horse for her, just as if they had only been discussing a bet. He had put the money on Number Nine.
The bet had been lost … and the girl too. Laszlo had broken his word to her and had gone on gambling. To him that ticket had been the symbol of the day the Fates had turned against him.
Abady knew nothing of this, but his instinct told him to put the blue ticket back in the pocket from which it had fallen.
Outside the house Bischitz saw the car and asked the chauffeur about his master. When he learned that it was Count Abady, who was rich and important and a close relation of the dead man, he at once began to wonder if he might be able to get him to pay for all the soap, paraffin and brandy that Regina had stolen from the shop. He knew he could not send in an account for these to Dr Simay, who was hard and severe and would only say that he was not responsible for what the shopkeeper’s daughter might have pinched on the sly. Bischitz was not even sure that it had been Regina, for all he knew for certain was that he had missed some stock that he thought ought to have been there, and he could not even say how much had been taken. Still, he now thought, such a distinguished gentleman as Count Abady was certain to have a softer heart than the stern lawyer, for wasn’t he even now inside the house and, as he had seen through the window, talking kindly to his daughter?
Accordingly he hastened back to the shop and started to make out a bill. Being an honest shopkeeper he was careful not to add anything extra – though he did round off the total – but added it all up more or less to what he thought had disappeared.
When Abady came out of the house just before midday Bischitz had already been waiting for him for some time. Hat in hand he introduced himself and, after a lengthy explanation, offered Balint his account. He never mentioned how many times he had slapped Regina when he fancied she had taken something, but spoke warmly of her as if she had done it all with his approval. He even managed to give the impression that he had encouraged her.
Balint was about to take the bill, which amounted to a few thousand crowns, when a carriage with jangling harness drove up from the north and stopped beside them. A short, stout man with greying hair stepped out. He was aged about sixty and wore a short imperial and thick glasses. Peering at Abady with the slightly squinting gaze of the short-sighted, he spoke directly to the shopkeeper.
‘What sort of a bill is that?’
Bischitz started and then, rushing his words, he began to explain that there had been certain expenses which, merely out of discretion of course, he had not mentioned before for, still out of discretion of course, there had been some old debts of Count Laszlo’s … and some new ones … and he hadn’t wanted to trouble anyone with them.
There was nothing soft about the lawyer, for it was Dr Simay who had arrived, and he at once called the shopkeeper to order.
‘I gave strict instructions that you were to give