The Fortune Hunter [36]
from his pocket and slid his finger along the edge. ``The key to my sleeping-room,'' he muttered, half imagining that a vast audience was watching with bated breath.
The waiter entered and he hid the knife.
``Away!'' he exclaimed, frowning heavily. ``I wish to be alone.''
``Mr. Meinert says you must pay,'' said the waiter. ``Four drinks--sixty cents.''
Mr. Feuerstein laughed sardonically.
``Pay! Ha--ha! Always pay! Another drink, wretch, and I shall pay for all--for all!'' He laughed, with much shaking of the shoulders and rolling of the eyes.
When the waiter had disappeared he muttered: ``I can wait no longer.'' He took the knife, held it at arm's length, blade down. He turned his head to the left and closed his eyes. Then with a sudden tremendous drive he sent the long, narrow blade deep into his neck. The blood spurted out, his breath escaped from between his lips with long, shuddering, subsiding hisses. His body stiffened, collapsed, rolled to the floor.
Mr. Feuerstein was dead--with empty pockets and the drinks unpaid for.
XI
MR. FEUERSTEIN'S CLIMAX
When Otto came to see Hilda that evening she was guiltily effusive in her greeting and made up her mind that, as soon as they were alone, she must tell him what she had all but done. But first there was the game of pinochle which Otto must lose to her father. As they sat at their game she was at the zither-table, dreamily playing May Breezes as she watched Otto and thought how much more comfortable she was in his strong, loyal love than in the unnatural strain of Mr. Feuerstein's ecstasies. `` `Work and love and home,' '' she murmured, in time to her music. ``Yes, father is right. They ARE the best.''
August came in and said: ``Hilda, here are two men who want to see you.''
As he spoke, he was pushed aside and she, her father and Otto sat staring at the two callers. They were obviously detectives-- ``plain clothes men'' from the Fifth-Street Station House. There could be no chance of mistake about those police mustaches and jaws, those wide, square-toed, police shoes.
``My name is Casey and this is my side- partner, Mr. O'Rourke,'' said the shorter and fatter of the two as they seated themselves without waiting to be asked. Casey took off his hat; O'Rourke's hand hesitated at the brim, then drew his hat more firmly down upon his forehead. ``Sorry to break in on your little party,'' Casey went on, ``but the Cap'n sent us to ask the young lady a few questions.''
Hilda grew pale and her father and Otto looked frightened.
``Do you know an actor named Feuerstein?'' asked Casey.
Hilda trembled. She could not speak. She nodded assent.
``Did you see him to-day?''
``Yes,'' almost whispered Hilda.
Casey looked triumphantly at O'Rourke. Otto half rose, then sank back again. ``Where did you see him?'' asked Casey.
``Here.''
``Where else?''
Hilda nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. ``Only here,'' she answered after a pause.
``Ah, yes you did. Come now, lady. Speak the truth. You saw him at Meinert's.''
Hilda started violently. The detectives exchanged significant glances. ``No,'' she protested. ``I saw him only here.''
``Were you out of the store this afternoon?''
A long pause, then a faint ``Yes.''
``Where did you go?'' Casey added.
The blood flew to Hilda's face, then left it. ``To Meinert's,'' she answered. ``But only as far as the door.''
``Oh!'' said Casey sarcastically, and O'Rourke laughed. ``It's no use to hold back, lady,'' continued Casey. ``We know all about your movements. You went in Meinert's--in at the family entrance.''
``Yes,'' replied Hilda. She was shaking as if she were having a chill. ``But just to the door, then home again.''
``Now, that won't do,'' said Casey roughly. ``You'd better tell the whole story.''
``Tell them all about it, Hilda,'' interposed her father in an agonized tone.
``Don't hold back anything.''
``Oh--father--Otto--it was nothing. I didn't go in. He--Mr. Feuerstein--came here, and he looked
The waiter entered and he hid the knife.
``Away!'' he exclaimed, frowning heavily. ``I wish to be alone.''
``Mr. Meinert says you must pay,'' said the waiter. ``Four drinks--sixty cents.''
Mr. Feuerstein laughed sardonically.
``Pay! Ha--ha! Always pay! Another drink, wretch, and I shall pay for all--for all!'' He laughed, with much shaking of the shoulders and rolling of the eyes.
When the waiter had disappeared he muttered: ``I can wait no longer.'' He took the knife, held it at arm's length, blade down. He turned his head to the left and closed his eyes. Then with a sudden tremendous drive he sent the long, narrow blade deep into his neck. The blood spurted out, his breath escaped from between his lips with long, shuddering, subsiding hisses. His body stiffened, collapsed, rolled to the floor.
Mr. Feuerstein was dead--with empty pockets and the drinks unpaid for.
XI
MR. FEUERSTEIN'S CLIMAX
When Otto came to see Hilda that evening she was guiltily effusive in her greeting and made up her mind that, as soon as they were alone, she must tell him what she had all but done. But first there was the game of pinochle which Otto must lose to her father. As they sat at their game she was at the zither-table, dreamily playing May Breezes as she watched Otto and thought how much more comfortable she was in his strong, loyal love than in the unnatural strain of Mr. Feuerstein's ecstasies. `` `Work and love and home,' '' she murmured, in time to her music. ``Yes, father is right. They ARE the best.''
August came in and said: ``Hilda, here are two men who want to see you.''
As he spoke, he was pushed aside and she, her father and Otto sat staring at the two callers. They were obviously detectives-- ``plain clothes men'' from the Fifth-Street Station House. There could be no chance of mistake about those police mustaches and jaws, those wide, square-toed, police shoes.
``My name is Casey and this is my side- partner, Mr. O'Rourke,'' said the shorter and fatter of the two as they seated themselves without waiting to be asked. Casey took off his hat; O'Rourke's hand hesitated at the brim, then drew his hat more firmly down upon his forehead. ``Sorry to break in on your little party,'' Casey went on, ``but the Cap'n sent us to ask the young lady a few questions.''
Hilda grew pale and her father and Otto looked frightened.
``Do you know an actor named Feuerstein?'' asked Casey.
Hilda trembled. She could not speak. She nodded assent.
``Did you see him to-day?''
``Yes,'' almost whispered Hilda.
Casey looked triumphantly at O'Rourke. Otto half rose, then sank back again. ``Where did you see him?'' asked Casey.
``Here.''
``Where else?''
Hilda nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. ``Only here,'' she answered after a pause.
``Ah, yes you did. Come now, lady. Speak the truth. You saw him at Meinert's.''
Hilda started violently. The detectives exchanged significant glances. ``No,'' she protested. ``I saw him only here.''
``Were you out of the store this afternoon?''
A long pause, then a faint ``Yes.''
``Where did you go?'' Casey added.
The blood flew to Hilda's face, then left it. ``To Meinert's,'' she answered. ``But only as far as the door.''
``Oh!'' said Casey sarcastically, and O'Rourke laughed. ``It's no use to hold back, lady,'' continued Casey. ``We know all about your movements. You went in Meinert's--in at the family entrance.''
``Yes,'' replied Hilda. She was shaking as if she were having a chill. ``But just to the door, then home again.''
``Now, that won't do,'' said Casey roughly. ``You'd better tell the whole story.''
``Tell them all about it, Hilda,'' interposed her father in an agonized tone.
``Don't hold back anything.''
``Oh--father--Otto--it was nothing. I didn't go in. He--Mr. Feuerstein--came here, and he looked