Crossing to the corner opposite the hotel, the superintendent entered
the open door of Schleisinger's "Emporium." At the moment there was a
dearth of trade, and the round-faced little German who had weathered all
the Angelic storms was discovered shaving himself before a triangular
bit of looking-glass, stuck up on the packing-box which served him by
turns as a desk and a dressing-case.
"How you vas, Mr. Litchervood?" was his greeting, offered while the
razor was on the upward sweep. "Don'd tell me you vas come aboud some
more of dose chustice businesses. Me, I make oud no more of dem
warrants, _nichts_. Dot _teufel_ Rufford iss come back again, alretty,
and----"
Lidgerwood broke the refusal in the midst.
"You are an officer of the law, Schleisinger--more is the pity, both for
you and the law--and you must do your duty. I have come to swear out
another warrant. Get your blank and fill it in."
The German shopkeeper put down his razor with only one side of his face
shaven. "Oh, _mein Gott!_" was his protest; but he rummaged in the
catch-all packing-box and found the pad of blank warrants.
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