"'Bout as big as a small East Side dance-hall."
Mr. Liechtenstein turned to the German. "Hold a lot of loot--what?"
"I bet me," said the German, and washed his hands with air.
"Lot o' what?" asked Bubbles.
"Loot--gold, silver, jewels, bullion."
"Your ideas," said the German, "is all idiot. No mans is such a darn fool as to think he can get away by such a business--no mans, that is, but is crazy."
"Blizzard is crazy," said Mr. Lichtenstein simply. "It wasn't until we hit on that hypothesis that we made any progress. Bubbles, did you ever hear of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew?"
"Sure," said Bubbles, "they shot him full of arrows."
"That was Saint Sebastian," corrected the Jew. "Now listen, this is history. On the night of August 24, 1572, two thousand men, distinguished from other men by white cockades in their hats, on the order of a crazy man, at the tolling of a bell, drew their swords, murdered everybody in a great city who opposed their leaders, and made themselves absolute masters of the place. What two thousand men did in Paris during the Middle Ages, ten thousand men acting in concert could do in New York to-day. If a man rose up with the power to command such a following, with the ability to keep his plans absolutely secret, with the genius to make plans in which there were no flaws, he could loot Maiden Lane, the Sub-Treasury, Tiffany's, the Metropolitan Museum--and get away with it."
Mr. Lichtenstein's small eyes glittered. He was visibly excited. And so was Mr. Blicker.