was not hidden behind those
gleaming blue glasses.

Save for his regular luncheon at the Cafe Bavaria, no Sixth Avenue
habitue had ever seen Mr. Fritz Braun at concert, theater, or any
of the places of local or suburban amusement.

As to woman, he seemed to be sternly indifferent, Save to the
semi-professionals who were as anxious to escape Sing Sing's gloomy
embrace as the man who supplied them with the drugs for their various
"Ladies' Homes." These were welcome "Greeks bearing gifts" of the
coveted "long green" which was Fritz Braun's god.

Braun was never in the pharmacy after six o'clock, and from that
evening hour when all well-conducted men and women turn to dinner
as the day's culmination, no one had ever set their eyes upon the
bustling manager.

Friendless he seemed, yet ever cheerful, a man distantly respected
for the open frankness of his business dealings, the order and quiet
of his shop, and his rare capacity for minding his own business.

It was only in the evening that Mr. Ben Timmins' reign was uncontested.
The flashy young fellows of his caught-up friendships then lurked
around Magdal's Pharmacy where Timmins dispensed complimentary drinks
and lorded over his fluctuating harem of unemployed "soubrettes"
and light-headed shop girls freed from their daily toil.

In a rough average at a half-way honesty, Timmins "turned in"
habitually about half of the evening's receipts of the "joint,"
which, to use his own language, he "ran for all it was worth."

He had soon lost all fear of his stern employer visiting him at
random, and the clever London rascal now laughed detection to scorn.

For he always kept in hand one day's stealings so that, if suddenly
"called down," he could glibly explain, "Slipped it in my pocket
in my hurry! The shop was full!"

While Timmins, returning from his breakfast on this busy Monday,
wondered at Mr. Fritz Braun delaying his comfortable luncheon,
Mr. Adolph Lilienthal was anxiously awaiting his secret partner in
villainy at the "Newport Art Gallery."

Perhaps the crowning secret of Braun's remarkable success was his
clear-headed avoidance of mixing up the details of his various
schemes.

Lilienthal knew nothing of Braun's whereabouts as to a real residence,
and the colloquies and settlements of the two always took place in
Lilienthal's little private office, proof against all eavesdroppers.

The Art Emporium, thronged with the curious, was the safest place
in