"Markulies," Polatkin cried out, "for Heaven's sake, what is it?"
"He must of ganvered 'em!" Markulies wailed. "Right in front of my eyes he done it."
"Who done it?" Scheikowitz cried.
"Lubliner," Markulies moaned.
"Lubliner!" Polatkin cried. "Do you mean Elkan Lubliner?"
"That's what I said," Markulies went on. "Comes half-past six last night, and that ganef makes me a schlag in the stummick, Mr. Polatkin; and the first thing you know he goes to work and steals from me my keys, Mr. Polatkin, and cleans out the whole place yet."
"Lubliner was here last night after we are going home?" Polatkin asked.
"Sure, he was," Markulies replied—"at half-past six yet."
"Then that only goes to show what a liar you are," Polatkin declared, "because myself I am letting Elkan go home at one o'clock on account the feller is so sick, understand me, he could hardly walk out of the place at all. Furthermore, he says he is going right straight to bed when he leaves here; so, if you want to explain how it is the garments disappear when you are in the place here alone, Markulies, go ahead with your lies. Might Mr. Scheikowitz stole 'em maybe—or I did! What?"
Markulies began to rock and sway in an agony of woe.