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The Fortune Hunter by David Graham Phillips
page 92 of 135 (68%)
``Not a cent--nothing but insults.''

Loeb finished his luncheon in silence. But he and Beck separated
on the friendliest terms. Loeb was too practical a philosopher
to hate another man for doing that which he would have done
himself if he had had the chance. At his office he told a clerk
to send Feuerstein a note, asking him to call the next morning.
When Feuerstein came into the anteroom the gimlet-eyed office boy
disappeared through one of the doors in the partition and
reappeared after a longer absence than usual. He looked at
Feuerstein with a cynical, contemptuous smile in his eyes.

``Mr. Loeb asks me to tell you,'' he said, ``with his
compliments, that you are a bigamist and a swindler, and that if
you ever show your face here again he'll have you locked up.''

Feuerstein staggered and paled--there was no staginess in his
manner. Then without a word he slunk away. He had not gone far
up Center Street before a hand was laid upon his shoulder from
behind. He stopped as if he had been shot; he shivered; he
slowly, and with a look of fascinated horror, turned to see whose
hand had arrested him.

He was looking into the laughing face of a man who was obviously
a detective.

``You don't seem glad to see me, old boy,'' said the detective
with contemptuous familiarity.

``I don't know you, sir.'' Feuerstein made a miserable attempt
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