Feuerstein followed the directions and found himself in a dingy little room, smelling of mustiness and stale tobacco, and lined with law books, almost all on crime and divorce. Loeb, Lynn, Levy and McCafferty were lawyers to the lower grades of the criminal and shady only. They defended thieves and murderers; they prosecuted or defended scandalous divorce cases; they packed juries and suborned perjury and they tutored false witnesses in the way to withstand cross-examination. In private life they were four home-loving, law-abiding citizens. Loeb looked up from his writing and said with contemptuous cordiality: "Oh--Mr. Feuerstein. Glad to see you--AGAIN. What's the trouble--NOW?" At "again" and "now" Feuerstein winced slightly. He looked nervously at Loeb. "It's been--let me see--at least seven years since I saw you," continued Loeb, who was proud of his amazing memory. He was a squat, fat man, with a coarse brown skin and heavy features. He was carefully groomed and villainously perfumed and his clothes were in the extreme of the loudest fashion. A diamond of great size was in his bright-blue scarf; another, its match, loaded down his fat little finger. Both could be unscrewed and set in a hair ornament which his wife wore at first nights or when they dined in state at Delmonico's. As he studied Feuerstein, his face had its famous smile, made by shutting his teeth together and drawing his puffy lips back tightly from them. "That is all past and gone," said Feuerstein. "As a lad I was saved by you from the consequences of boyish folly. And now, a man grown, I come to you to enlist your aid in avenging an insult to my honor, an--" "Be as brief as possible," cut in Loeb. "My time is much occupied. The bald facts, please--FACTS, and BALD." Feuerstein settled himself and prepared to relate his story as if he were on the stage, with the orchestra playing low and sweet. "I met a woman and loved her," he began in a deep, intense voice with a passionate tremolo. "A bad start," interrupted Loeb. "If you go on that way, we'll never get anywhere. You're a frightful fakir and liar, Feuerstein. You were, seven years ago; of course, the habit's grown on you. Speak out! What do you want? As your lawyer, I must know things exactly as they are." "I ran away with a girl--the daughter of the brewer, Peter Ganser," said Feuerstein, sullen but terse. "And her father wouldn't receive me--shut her up--put me out." "And you want your wife?" "I want revenge." "Of course--cash. Well, Ganser's a rich man. I should say he'd give up a good deal to get rid of YOU." Loeb gave that mirthless and mirth-strangling smile as he accented the "you." "He's got to give up!" said Feuerstein fiercely. "Slowly! Slowly!" Loeb leaned forward and looked into Feuerstein's face. "You mustn't forget." Feuerstein's eyes shifted rapidly as he said in a false voice: "She got a divorce years ago." "M-m-m," said Loeb. "Anyhow, she's away off in Russia."