Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 14, 2025
The printed words, "Newport Art Gallery," were visible above the words, "Fräulein Irma Gluyas, 192 Layte Street, Brooklyn," and the adjuration, "Handle with care," completed the marks upon the tell-tale paper. The anxious lawyer saw the magnificent castle in the air which he had builded crumbled at his feet.
"They imagined that I was only dodging a few unwelcome legal papers." "By Heavens! I have turned over a gold mine to them, and they won't kick. If it had not been for my damned gambling craze I would have had a cool hundred thousand more. "And they will surely keep the secret of 192 Layte Street, for they wish to run their own 'joint' there.
"I might, however," he briskly turned to an assistant, and after a few words, led the annoyed Clayton back to a counter. There a packing case was lying, plainly marked "Fräulein Irma Gluyas, No. 192 Layte Street, Brooklyn." "I might open it," hesitated the dealer, "and yet, the lady might not like it. She paid a round price for it, a hundred dollars.
After looking over his memorandums, he admitted that he had sold one to Mr. Randall Clayton some weeks before his unfortunate death. "Now," the lawyer cried, with positive deduction, "that picture had been addressed to Fräulein Irma Gluyas, No. 192 Layte Street, Brooklyn. I have the very label. Her name was found pencilled on the card in poor Randall's pocketbook.
The over-fed policeman sucking his club in front of 192 Layte only smiled in answer to vague inquiry, "Private house, belongs to old family estate, people in Europe," and then with a leer would drop into the "Valkyrie" for a fistful of good cigars and a flask of the very best.
The solidity of the new tenant's finances was vouched for by the agents of the old estate from whom Fritz Braun had already leased 192 Layte Street, in his Brooklyn name of "August Meyer."
It was months after he had found No. 192 Layte Street to be a never-failing mint, when Braun became fascinated with the whirr of the roulette ball, the varying chances of the faro box, and, at last, the fine peculiarities of "unlimited poker" swept away his once callous prudence.
In the dark shadows of the involved angular corners, thug and ghoul lurked until midnight should bring them their prey, the careless roysterer, or the belated prosperous citizen. Out on Layte Street the flashy throng was still pouring toward the Fulton Ferry. "I wonder if I dare," mused the lad, as he walked around the corner and paused before No. 192 Layte Street.
Now, where did you take him?" Witherspoon held his breath as Leah Einstein, between her sobs, told of the fatal visit to No. 192 Layte Street. It was half an hour when the sobbing woman had finished her recital. "By the God of Jacob! I never saw him after he went into the back room. Fritz was with him there, Fritz alone!" The three men were as unmoved as sphinxes while McNerney led her along.
It was ten o'clock when Emil Einstein sprang down the stairway of the eastern terminus of the Brooklyn Bridge. The lad was blithe at heart as he turned to the left and, passing through the seething press of the crowds congested under the electric lights of Sands and Fulton Streets, carefully reconnoitered a gorgeous saloon on the corner of Layte and Dale Streets.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking