“I’m no thief! I’ll let you know I’m not to be called thief--especially by you!” Young Moore’s disclaimer was half whine, half snarl. Bernstein took up his tale. “Mr. Symonds, I’m glad to meet you, sir. Our--our friend here is fond of his joke. You mustn’t take him seriously. It--it’s his way to say things which he doesn’t mean. I just stepped in to say a word to him in private--just one word; so I hope you’ll forgive me if I seem to be intruding. Lawrence, I--I came with our young friend here along the little back passage, which the models used to use, because I--I wanted to speak one word to you in private. Would you mind stepping on one side just--just for half a moment.” “No, Bernstein, I won’t. Anything you have to say to me, you’ll say in public; at the top of your voice; out loud. I’m going to say my say so that every one may hear me--she and they.” “Now, Lawrence, be reasonable, I do beg of you. Let me make to you just this one remark.” Drawing closer, Mr. Bernstein dropped his voice to a whisper. Taking him by both shoulders, Lawrence began to shake him to and fro. “Speak up, Bernstein, speak up! Shout, man, shout!” “Don’t Lawrence, you’ll hurt me!” “Hurt you! Hurt you! If I could only hurt you as you’ve hurt me, you pretty fellow! Why didn’t you save your skin by taking to your heels? For me there’s no salvation, because of her, and the face, and the words. But for you there was a chance. Now there’s none! Now there’s none!” He flung the Jew away from him, so that he went reeling half across the room. Mr. Bernstein addressed himself, with stammering lips, to the inspector. “Mr. Symonds, he’s--he’s not right in his head; he’s excited--he’s been drinking; look at those bottles!” Lawrence threw out his arms with a laugh. “Look at those bottles! Evidences of a giant’s thirst! I’ll have another!” Taking a bottle of champagne out of the collection in the corner, with what looked like a palette knife he struck the neck off with a cleanness and dexterity which denoted practice. The wine foamed up. He filled a soda-water tumbler, emptying it at a draught. “That’s the stuff! It’s got a sting in it! I like my drink to have a sting!” Bernstein drew the inspector’s attention to his proceedings. “You see. That’s how he goes on--drink! drink! drink! He does nothing else but drink. You wouldn’t pay any attention to his ravings when they reflect upon a respectable man?” “Respectable man! Isaac Bernstein, respectable man?” He tossed the bottle he was holding towards the Jew. If the other had not ducked, it would have struck him. “He’s a liar, that’s what he is; a liar to his finger-tips. No one who knows him would believe him on his oath.” This was young Moore. Lawrence pointed at him with his tumbler. “A Solomon risen to judgment! See truth’s imaged superscription on his brow.” The lady stepped forward before I had guessed her intention.