“It’s nothing. A dizziness. I’m better,” she said. But Sarah insisted upon taking her home at once. “That’s right,” Marcus advised. “Go home and take a hot tea with lemon. It’ll sweat you out.” He added in an undertone to his neighbor, “It’s a shame! Such a fine woman! She’s got a husband who’s a nix!” Zelde refused to have Sarah accompany her home. “We can’t afford you shall lose a half day,” she argued. But the real reason was that she did not wish her daughter to behold her father’s infamy. At eleven o’clock Zelde left. As she neared the house her breath became short and rapid. She stumbled several times going up the stairs. She stopped at the door. Was it voices or was it her imagination? No. Yes. It was. A man’s voice, then a woman’s laughter, then some--oh! She could stand it no longer. She broke wildly into the room and dislodged a bulky person who had been leaning against the door. Zelde stood electrified. It was Rifke. And she was laughing in her face! And there was Mendel. And the janitor, too--Rifke’s husband. And two men! With stovepipe hats and cutaways and spats! Detectives, no doubt! Brought by the janitor to catch his wife and arrest Mendel! Oh, heavens! And there was Morton, Mendel’s nephew, a lawyer! “Oi! A lawyer in the case!” she moaned to herself. “Then everything is lost!” Zelde was ready to drop, but Mendel took her by the hand, and she heard him say, “This is my wife. It’s all her fault. She drove me to it.” “We want you to come with us now,” one of the strangers said to Mendel. “What’s the matter here, anyhow?” Zelde exclaimed at last. “I got to go with these people,” Mendel replied. “But you can ask--Rifke,” he added significantly. “She knows all about it.” Mendel, his nephew and the two gentlemen departed before Zelde had time to protest. She turned with burning eyes to Rifke--the hussy! “I wish they could take my husband where they take yours,” Rifke began by way of explanation. “You don’t know what kind of a husband you got. It’s gonna be in all the papers. He did something. Those men what was here watched him, and when they seen it they jumped up like crazy.” “What did he do?” Zelde asked in great alarm. “I betcha you made him to do it.” “I? He says you made him. I only brought up the people. They knock by me in the door. They say, ‘Do Mendel Marantz live here? Where is it?’ So I bring them up.” “What for did you bring them up--what for? A blind one could see it’s detectives!” Zelde muttered angrily. “How shall I know it who they are? When they came in your husband turned white like milk. ‘Are you the man which done it?’ they ask him, and he says, shivering, ‘Yes.’” Zelde wrung her hands. “What for did he say ‘Yes’--what for?” “Because it’s true,” Rifke explained. “What’s true?” “That he done it.” “What did he done--what? You’ll make me crazy yet. Why don’t you tell me?” “But I told you already!”