come back yet, Mr. Potash," the clerk said, and Abe retired
to the writing-room and smoked a cigar by way of a sedative.

From six o'clock that evening until midnight he smoked so many sedative
cigars and made so many fruitless inquiries at the desk for Marks
Pasinsky, that his own nerves as well as the night clerk's were
completely shattered. Before Abe retired he paid a farewell visit to the
desk, and both he and the clerk gave vent to their emotions in a great
deal of spirited profanity.

There was no rest for Abe that night, and when at length he fell asleep
it was almost daylight. He awoke at nine and, dressing himself fireman
fashion, he hurried to the desk.

"What time did Marks Pasinsky come in?" he asked the clerk.

"Why, Mr. Pasinsky didn't come in at all," the clerk replied.

Abe pushed his hat back from his forehead.

"Say, young feller," he said, "do you got the gall to tell me that Marks
Pasinsky ain't come back since he went over to the Altringham with that
short, dark feller yesterday afternoon?"

"Call me a liar, why don't you?" the clerk retorted.

"You're a fresh young feller!" Abe exclaimed. "Couldn't you answer a
civil question?"

"Ah, don't be worrying me with your troubles!" the clerk snarled. "Go
over to the Altringham yourself, if you think I'm stringing you."

Abe turned without another word and hustled over to the Altringham.

"Do you know a feller by the name Marks Pasinsky?" he asked the clerk.

"Is he a guest of the house?" the clerk said.

"He's a big feller with a stovepipe hat and curly hair," Abe replied,
"and he came in here yesterday afternoon with a short, dark feller what
is stopping here. This here Pasinsky is stopping where I am, but he
ain't showed up all night, and I guess he's stayed here with that short,
dark feller."

The clerk touched a bell.

"Front," he said, "show this gentleman up to eighty-nine."

"Eighty-nine?" Abe cried. "Who's up in eighty-nine?"

[Illustration: YOU'RE A FRESH YOUNG FELLER!]

"Tall, curly-haired gentleman came in here yesterday afternoon with a
short, dark gentleman name of Katzen and----"

Abe clapped his hand to his forehead.

"Arthur Katzen!" he cried.

The clerk nodded.

"Short, dark feller," Abe murmured as he followed the bell-boy. "Why
didn't I think of Arthur Katzen before?"

He entered the elevator, feeling as though he were walking in his sleep;
nor did the jolt with which he was shot up to the eighth floor awak