f the Lubliner closing was excellent. Feldman
himself sat in a baronial chair at the head of his library table, while
to a seat on his right he had assigned Kent J. Goldstein. On his left
he had placed Mr. Jones, the representative of the title company, a
gaunt, sandy-haired man of thirty-five who, by the device of a pair of
huge horn spectacles, had failed to distract public attention from an
utterly stupendous Adam's apple.

Next to the title company's representative were placed Elkan Lubliner
and his partners, and it was to them that Henry D. Feldman addressed his
opening remarks.

"Mr. Lubliner," he said in the soft accents in which he began all his
crescendos, "the examination of the record title to Mr. Glaubmann's
Linden Boulevard premises has been made at my request by the Law Title
Insurance and Guaranty Company."

He made a graceful obeisance toward Mr. Jones, who acknowledged it with
a convulsion of his Adam's apple.

"I have also procured a survey to be made," Feldman continued; and, amid
a silence that was broken only by the heavy breathing of Barnett
Glaubmann, he held up an intricate design washed with watercolour on
glazed muslin.

"Finally I have done this," he declared, and his brows gathered in a
tragic frown as his glance swept in turn the faces of Kent J. Goldstein,
Benno Ortelsburg, J. Kamin, and Glaubmann--"I have procured an
inspector's report upon the occupation of the _locus in quo_."

"Oo-ee!" Glaubmann murmured, and Louis Stout exchanged triumphant
glances with Polatkin and Scheikowitz.

"And I find," Feldman concluded, "there is a tenant in possession,
claiming under a year's lease which will not expire until October first
next."

Mr. Jones nodded and cleared his throat so noisily that, to relieve his
embarrassment, he felt obliged to crack each of his knuckles in turn. As
for Ribnik and Tarnowitz, they sat awestruck in the rear of Feldman's
spacious library and felt vaguely that they were in a place of worship.
Only Kent J. Goldstein remained unimpressed; and in order to show it he
scratched a parlour match on the leg of Feldman's library table; whereat
Feldman's _ex-cathedra_ manner forsook him.

"Where in blazes do you think you are, Goldstein?" he asked in
colloquial tones--"in a barroom?"

"If it's solid mahogany," Goldstein retorted, "it'll rub up like new. I
think you were talking about the tenancy of the premises here."

Feldman choked down his indignation and once more