laid it before him on the table. "The presence of death
inspired me," he said, looking at his production with tragic pride.
And he called for another drink.

When the waiter brought it, he lifted it high and, standing up, bowed
as if some one were opposite him at the table. "I drink to you,
Death!" he said. The waiter stared in open-mouthed astonishment, and
with a muttered, "He's luny!" backed from the room.

He sat again and drew the knife from his pocket and slid his finger
along the edge. "The key to my sleeping-room," he muttered, half
imagining that a vast audience was watching with bated breath.

The waiter entered and he hid the knife.

"Away!" he exclaimed, frowning heavily. "I wish to be alone."

"Mr. Meinert says you must pay," said the waiter. "Four drinks--sixty
cents."

Mr. Feuerstein laughed sardonically.

"Pay! Ha--ha! Always pay! Another drink, wretch, and I shall pay for
all--for all!" He laughed, with much shaking of the shoulders and
rolling of the eyes.

When the waiter had disappeared he muttered: "I can wait no longer."
He took the knife, held it at arm's length, blade down. He turned his
head to the left and closed his eyes. Then with a sudden tremendous
drive he sent the long, narrow blade deep into his neck. The blood
spurted out, his breath escaped from between his lips with long,
shuddering, subsiding hisses. His body stiffened, collapsed, rolled to
the floor.

Mr. Feuerstein was dead--with empty pockets and the drinks unpaid for.

XI

MR. FEUERSTEIN'S CLIMAX

When Otto came to see Hilda that evening she was guiltily effusive in
her greeting and made up her mind that, as soon as they were alone, she
must tell him what she had all but done. But first there was the game
of pinochle which Otto must lose to her father. As they sat at their
game she was at the zither-table, dreamily playing May Breezes as she
watched Otto and thought how much more comfortable she was in his
strong, loyal love than in the unnatural strain of Mr. Feuerstein's
ecstasies. "'Work and love and home,'" she murmured, in time to her
music. "Yes, father is right. They ARE the best."

August came in and said: "Hilda, here are two men who want to see you."

As he spoke, he was pushed aside and she, her father and Otto sat
staring at the two callers. They were obviously detectives--"plain
clothes men" from the Fifth-Street Station House. There could be no
chance of mistake about tho