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 Konopásek quickly and his ashen cheeks reddened with a faint flush. “I just ran out of twine and I’d like to sew up that inventory. I’m just going for a fresh ball—”

“Zounds, man! Don’t you see right there on the table before you a ball as big as thunder?” howled the counsellor angrily and pointed to a ball of black and yellow twine lying right in front of Konopásek’s nose, so to speak.

“You’re so excited about your Christmas dinner of fried carp that you’re absolutely stupid, it seems to me. It’ll not run away.”

Konopásek with red cheeks sat down at his place and sewed on. After a while, bowever, he rose again, stepped quickly to the door, took the key from the wainscot and hastily walked out of the office.

When he had left, the attorney arose as if something had pierced him and with short steps approached the cabinet. He opened it and looked at the supplies in which Konopásek had been rummaging. There was almost nothing inside. Some paper, a bit of string, a fer sticks of sealing wax and two pairs of scissors. In a corner of the compartment were several small circular boxes on the lid of each of which was pasted a round white wafer, about the size of a cent, a hardened thin disk of flour or gelatin used for sealing official documents. One of the boxes stood at a little distance from the others. The counsellor involuntarily took hold of it to push it closer to the others, but suddenly lifted it.