"Where do yous think you're going?" asked a policeman whose broad shoulders completely blocked the little entrance.
"We was telephoned for, on account a friend of ours by the name Flixman is taken sick here," Kapfer explained.
"Go ahead," the policeman said more gently; "but I guess you're too late."
"Is he dead?" Scheikowitz cried, and the policeman nodded solemnly as he stood to one side.
More than two hours elapsed before Kapfer, Polatkin, and Scheikowitz returned to the Prince Clarence. With them was Kent J. Goldenfein.
"Mr. Kapfer," the clerk said, "there's a man been waiting for you in the café for over two hours."
"I'll bring him right in," Kapfer said, and two minutes afterward he brought the gesticulating Fischko out of the café.
"Do you think I am a dawg?" Fischko cried. "I've been here two hours!"
"Well, come into the Moorish Room a minute," Kapfer pleaded, "and I'll fix everything up with you afterward."