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Updated: June 2, 2025
Carl shifted the lamp that its pale fan of light might fall full upon the other's face. "Let me tell you do!" said he. "For I'm sure I know. During the summer, my dear Kronberg, I was the victim of a series of peculiar and persistent attacks. To a growing habit of unremitting vigilance and suspicion, I may thank my life.
Luther, immediately on his return to Wittenberg, was impatient to explain in full to German Christendom his position, without the restraints imposed on his words during his residence at the Wartburg. This he did in a letter to the knight Hartmuth von Kronberg, near Frankfort-on-the-Main, which he intended for publication.
Bearing a tray of food, Carl entered and closed the door. "I'm still waiting, Kronberg," he reminded coolly, "for the answers to those questions." For answer Kronberg merely pushed aside the tray of food with a shudder. There was a dreadful nausea to-day in the pit of his stomach. "So?" said Carl. "Well," he regretted, "there are always the finger stretchers.
"The feller is A number one, Mawruss," Abe said. "I stopped off to see Sam Feder at the Kosciusko Bank, and Sam sent me to the Associated Information Bureau. He is rated twenty to thirty thousand; credit good." "Yes?" Morris replied. "Tell me, Abe, did Mosha Kronberg say just when he would be here?" "What are you wasting your time about Mosha Kronberg for?" Abe retorted.
The insolent purr of his musical voice whipped color into Kronberg's cheeks. Abruptly he shifted his position and glared stonily. "Venice," murmured Carl impudently, "Venice called them bravi; here in America we brutally call them gun-men, but honestly, Kronberg, in all respect and confidence, you really haven't brains and originality enough for a clever professional murderer.
By midnight he was drinking heavily, having accepted the tray this time and dismissed Kronberg for the night. Though the snow had abated some the night before, and ceased in the morning, it was again whirling outside in the lane with the wild abandon of a Bacchante. The wind too was rising and filling the house with ghostly creaks.
"You got a partner by the name Potash, ain't it?" "That's right," Morris replied. "And what brings you over here in this nachbarschaft?" Uncle Mosha inquired. Morris looked from Uncle Mosha to the tarnished brass plate on the side of the tenement-house door. It read as follows: M. KRONBERG REAL ESTATE
Prior to leaving his office Leon had cashed Aaron Kronberg's check for seven hundred and fifty dollars, and the money, in bills of large denomination, was turned over to Mosha Kronberg, who tucked them carefully away in his breast pocket. "Well, Aaron," he said after the operation was completed, "I guess I'll be going back to Madison Street." "Wait; I'll go along with you," Aaron cried.
With the tigerish agility which had served him many a time before Carl leaped for the revolver and smiling with satanic interest leveled it at the man at his feet. "So," said he softly, "you, too, are a link in the chain. Get up!" Sullenly Kronberg obeyed. "If you are a good shot," commented Carl coolly, "the bullet you sent from this doorway would have gone through my head.
Here it is in black on white: 'Alex Kronberg, Bridgetown, Pennsylvania, five dollars." Uncle Mosha adjusted a pair of eyeglasses to his broad, flat nose and perused the record of his nephew's extravagance with bulging eyes. "Well, what d'ye think for a sucker like that!" he exclaimed.
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