Dishkes again buried his head in his hands, while Ringentaub blushed guiltily.
"That may be all right in the antic business, Mr. Ringentaub," Elkan went on, "but in the garment business we ain't two hundred and fifty years behind the times exactly. We got associations of manufacturers and we got good lawyers, too, understand me; and we get right after crooks like Sammet, just the same as some of us helps out retailers that want to be decent, like Dishkes here."
Louis Dishkes raised his head suddenly.
"Then you heard the whole thing?" he cried; and Elkan nodded.
"I heard enough, Dishkes," he said; "and if you want my help you could come down to my place to-morrow morning at ten o'clock."
At this juncture the triggered bell rang loudly, and raising his hand for silence Ringentaub returned to the store.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Paul!" he said.
He addressed a broad-shouldered figure arrayed in the height of Canal Street fashion.
Aside from his clothing, however, there was little to betray the connoisseur of fine arts and antiques in the person of Jacob Paul, who possessed the brisk, businesslike manner and steel-blue eyes of a detective sergeant.
"Hello, Ringentaub!" he said. "You are doing a rushing business here—ain't it? More customers in the back room too?"