“But it didn't work,” he concluded. “I picked the wrong Jew.”
His face grew serious. “Do you suppose that Smedburg person has wirelessed that banker?”
I told him I was afraid he had already sent the message.
“And what will Meyer do?” he asked. “Will he drop it or make a fuss? What sort is he?”
Briefly I described Adolph Meyer. I explained him as the richest Hebrew in New York; given to charity, to philanthropy, to the betterment of his own race.
“Then maybe,” cried Talbot hopefully, “he won't make a row, and my family won't hear of it!”
He drew a quick breath of relief. As though a burden had been lifted, his shoulders straightened.
And then suddenly, harshly, in open panic, he exclaimed aloud:
“Look!” he whispered. “There, at the end of the wharf—the little Jew in furs!”
I followed the direction of his eyes. Below us on the dock, protected by two obvious members of the strong-arm squad, the great banker, philanthropist, and Hebrew, Adolph Meyer, was waiting.