"Can you let me have the money?" inquired Peters. "My dear fellow," retorted Rosenheim, with an oily sneer, "I owe the money all right, but I don't own a thing in the world. Everything in this room belongs to my wife. The amount of money I owe is really something shocking. Even what is in the safe"--he nodded to a large affair on the other side of the room--"belongs to somebody else." Rosenheim had been through this same performance hundreds of times before, but not with the same denouement. Suddenly he saw a lean young man, with hollow cheeks and blazing eyes, leap over the brass railing. In another instant horny hands grasped him firmly by the windpipe and a voice hissed in his ear: "Pay me those judgments or I'll strangle you here and now!" With bursting veins and protruding tongue he struggled helplessly to escape as his assailant dragged him toward the safe. "I mean what I say!" half shrieked Peters. "I'm starving! I'd as lief die one way as another; but before I die you'll pay up those judgments--every cent!" Rosenheim was on his knees now before the safe, his eyes starting from his head. "Open the safe!" commanded Peters. Rosenheim, the sweat of death on his brow, fumbled with the combination; the tumbler caught, the door swung open. Peters lifted his captive enough to permit him to reach in and take out the bills. "Count 'em out!" he ordered. Rosenheim did as he was told, shaking with fear. Peters stuffed the money into his pocket. "Now do your damdest!" he shouted. "I've had one piece of law business before I died. Good afternoon!" Rosenheim crawled back to his desk, relit his cigar and endeavored to pull himself together. He had a half-scared, half-puzzled look on his face and once in awhile he scratched his head. Meantime Peters repaired to the nearest hotel and ordered a dinner of steak and fried potatoes, washed down with a pint of champagne. He then purchased a new suit of clothes, a box of collars, a few shirts, and a hat. When he entered Mr. Banks' office an hour later the latter with difficulty recognized his visitor. "I owe you three hundred dollars, I believe," remarked Peters, laying down the bills. "Owe--me--What? You didn't get that money out of Rosenheim?" stammered Banks. "Why not?" asked Peters casually. "Of course I did. Every cent of it." Banks looked at him in utter amazement. He, too, scratched his head. "Say," he suddenly exploded, "you must be quite a feller! Now, look here, I've got a claim against the Pennsylvania and Susquehanna Terminal Company for two million dollars that I wish you'd come in and give me a little help on. What do you say?" Peters hesitated and pursed his lips. "Oh, I don't mind if I do," said he carelessly. You may have heard of the celebrated law firm of Banks & Peters-- who do a business of about four hundred thousand a year? Well, that is Peters. Banks says he's "the ablest young lawyer in New York."