The Fortune Hunter by David Graham Phillips
page 92 of 135 (68%)
page 92 of 135 (68%)
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``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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