want--how much damages?"

"He ought to pay at least twenty-five thousand."

Loeb shrugged his shoulders. "Ridiculous!" he said. "Possibly the five
without the twenty. And how do you expect to pay us?"

"I'm somewhat pressed just at the moment. But I thought"--Feuerstein
halted.

"That we'd take the case as a speculation? Well, to oblige an old
client, we will. But you must agree to give us all we can get over and
above five thousand--half what we get if it's below that."

"Those are hard terms," remonstrated Feuerstein. The more he had
thought on his case, the larger his expectations had become.

"Very generous terms, in the circumstances. You can take it or leave
it."

"I can't do anything without you. I accept."

"Very well." Loeb took up his pen, as if he were done with Feuerstein,
but went on: "And you're SURE that the--the FORMER Mrs. Feuerstein is
divorced--and won't turn up?"

"Absolutely. She swore she'd never enter any country where I was."

"Has she any friends who are likely to hear of this?"

"She knew no one here."

"All right. Go into the room to the left there. Mr. Travis or Mr.
Gordon will take your statement of the facts--names, dates, all
details. Good morning."

Feuerstein went to Travis, small and sleek, smooth and sly. When
Travis had done with him, he showed him out. "Call day after
to-morrow," he said, "and when you come, ask for me. Mr. Loeb never
bothers with these small cases."

Travis reported to Loeb half an hour later, when Feuerstein's statement
had been typewritten. Loeb read the statement through twice with great
care.

"Most complete, Mr. Travis," was his comment. "You've done a good
piece of work." He sat silent, drumming noiselessly on the table with
his stumpy, hairy, fat fingers. At last he began: "It ought to be
worth at least twenty thousand. Do you know Ganser?"

"Just a speaking acquaintance."

"Excellent. What kind of a man is he?"

"Stupid and ignorant, but not without a certain cunning. We can get at
him all right, though. He's deadly afraid of social scandal. Wants to
get into the German Club and become a howling swell. But he don't
stand a chance, though he don't know it."

"You'd better go to see him yourself," said Loeb.

"I'll be glad to do it, Mr. Loeb. Isn't your man--this Feuerstein--a
good bit to the queer?"

"A dead beat--one of the worst kind--the born gentleman. You've
noticed, perhaps, that where a man or w