enly and they find in his pocket
my check and a duplicate receipt which he gives me, written on the hotel
paper. Do me the favour and come with me."

Fifteen minutes later they stepped out of a taxicab in front of an
old-fashioned office building in Center Street and elbowed their way
through a crowd of over a hundred people toward the narrow doorway.

"Where do yous think you're going?" asked a policeman whose broad
shoulders completely blocked the little entrance.

"We was telephoned for, on account a friend of ours by the name Flixman
is taken sick here," Kapfer explained.

"Go ahead," the policeman said more gently; "but I guess you're too
late."

"Is he dead?" Scheikowitz cried, and the policeman nodded solemnly as he
stood to one side.

* * * * *

More than two hours elapsed before Kapfer, Polatkin, and Scheikowitz
returned to the Prince Clarence. With them was Kent J. Goldenfein.

"Mr. Kapfer," the clerk said, "there's a man been waiting for you in the
cafe for over two hours."

"I'll bring him right in," Kapfer said, and two minutes afterward he
brought the gesticulating Fischko out of the cafe.

"Do you think I am a dawg?" Fischko cried. "I've been here two hours!"

"Well, come into the Moorish Room a minute," Kapfer pleaded, "and I'll
fix everything up with you afterward."

He led the protesting _Shadchen_ through the lobby, and when they
entered the Moorish Room an impressive scene awaited them. On a divan,
beneath some elaborate plush draperies, sat Kent J. Goldenfein, flanked
on each side by Polatkin and Scheikowitz respectively, while spread on
the table in front of them were the drafts of Flixman's will and the
engrossed, unsigned copy, together with such other formidable-looking
documents as Goldenfein happened to find in his pockets. He rose
majestically as Fischko entered and turned on him a beetling frown.

"Is this the fellow?" he demanded sepulchrally, and Kapfer nodded.

"Mr. Fischko," Goldenfein went on, "I am an officer of the Supreme Court
and I have been retained to investigate the affairs of Mr. Julius
Flixman."

"Say, lookyhere, Kapfer," Fischko cried. "What is all this?"

Kapfer drew forward a chair.

"Sit down, Fischko," he said, "and answer the questions that he is
asking you."

"But----" Fischko began.

"Come, come, Mr. Fischko," Goldenfein boomed, "you are wasting our time
here. Raise your right hand!"

Fischko glanced despairingly at Kapf