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 at
haughtiness.

"Of course you don't. But I know YOU--all about you. Come in here and
let's sit down a minute."

They went into a saloon and the detective ordered two glasses of beer.
"Now listen to me, young fellow," he said.

"You're played out in this town. You've got to get a move on you, see?
We've been looking you up, and you're wanted for bigamy. But if you
clear out, you won't be followed. You've got to leave today,
understand? If you're here to-morrow morning, up the road you go."
The detective winked and waggled his thumb meaningly in a northerly
direction.

Feuerstein was utterly crushed. He gulped down the beer and sat wiping
the sweat from his face. "I have done nothing," he protested in tragic
tones. "Why am I persecuted--I, poor, friendless, helpless?"

"Pity about you," said the detective.

"You'd better go west and start again. Why not try honest work? It's
not so bad, they say, once you get broke in." He rose and shook hands
with Feuerstein. "So long," he said. "Good luck! Don't forget!" And
again he winked and waggled his thumb in the direction of the
penitentiary.

Feuerstein went to his lodgings, put on all