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"How'll you manage it, Frank?" asked Bert, brightening up; for he really was a good deal troubled over Cohen's continued success, particularly as he felt so strongly that there was something wrong at the bottom of it. "I don't know yet, Bert; but I'll find out a way somehow. See if you can't think of a plan yourself."
I rather thought some such formality might be advisable I understand that a shark named Cohen has already approached her." Even as he spoke I recalled that Mr. Cohen's face, in profile, might provoke the vision of a shark to a person of lively imagination. "I shall be glad," I said, "to present you to Mrs. Lansdale."
And in fact they parted at Cohen's door without having spoken to each other again merely with another pressure of the hands. Deronda felt a weight on him which was half joy, half anxiety.
"Five thousand dollars!" he shrieked again, "and business the way it is!" Mr. Perlmutter laid a soothing palm on Cohen's shoulder. "But, Mr. Cohen," he said, "what can we do? Why should you tell us all this?" Mr. Cohen shook off Morris's caress. "You're right," he said. "Why should I tell you all this? I didn't come here to tell you this. I come here to tell you something else.
I said nothing about my discovery, and now I shall profit by it to gain safe access and to go out again. The next day I shall spend in concealment at Benjamin Cohen's, and at night I shall go again to the palace, for the dose must be repeated. Twice in the course of forty-eight hours must it be administered, if life is to vanquish death.
Cohen's of this date, is received, and I answer frankly through you his inquiries. No one can practise law as an attorney in the United States without acknowledging the supremacy of our Government.
For God's sake let me have two thousand dollars and bring it down to me at B. Cohen's Art Shop on Geary Street near Grant Avenue. I'm too utterly exhausted to go up after it." "My dear Mr. Peck, I haven't two thousand dollars in my house. That is too great a sum of money to keep on hand." "Well, then, come downtown, open up the office safe and get the money for me."
"Beyond that, no trace whatever of the murderer had been found, but on the morning after the crime a couple of keys linked together by a short metal chain were found close to a gate at the opposite end of the Square, that which immediately faced Portland Place. These were proved to be, firstly, Mr. Cohen's latch-key, and, secondly, his gate-key of the Square.
J. Cohen, proprietor, was his undoing in this instance as in so many others. The Emporium got the trade and he got the good bys. Mr. Cohen was not an old resident, as he was; Mr. Cohen's daughter was not invited to picnics by the summer people; Mrs. Dott; but Mr.
"That's a fine young feller, Mawruss," Abe commented as he and his partner sat in the firm's show-room on the second day of Miss Cohen's vacation. "Who's this you're talking about?" Morris asked. "This here bookkeeper," Abe replied. "What's his first name, now, Mawruss?" "Ralph," Morris said. "Ralph!" Abe cried. "That's a name I couldn't remember it in a million years, Mawruss." "Why not, Abe?"
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