"I'm starving! I'd as lief die one way as another;
but before I die you'll pay up those judgments —
every cent!"

Rosenheim was on his knees now before the safe,
his eyes starting from his head.
"Open the safe!" commanded Peters.
Rosenheim, the sweat of death on his brow,
fumbled with the combination; the tumbler caught,
the door swung open. Peters lifted his captive
enough to permit him to reach in and take out the
bills.
"Count 'em out!" he ordered.
Rosenheim did as he was told, shakmg with fear.
Peters stuffed the money into his pocket.
121



The Confessions of

"Now do your damdest!" he shouted. "I've
had one piece of law business before I died. Good
afternoon!"

Rosenheim crawled back to his desk, relit his
cigar and endeavored to pull himself together. He
had a half-scared, half-puzzled look on his face
and once in awhile he scratched his head.
Meantime Peters repaired to the nearest hotel
and ordered a dinner of steak and fried potatoes,
washed down with a pint of champagne. He then
purchased a new suit of clothes, a box of collars, a
few shirts, and a hat. When he entered Mr.
Banks' office an hour later the latter with difficulty
.ecognized his visitor.
" I owe you three hundred dollars, I believe," re-
marked Peters, laying down the bills.
"Owe — me What? You didn't get that

money out of Rosenheim ?" stammered Banks.
"Why not?" asked Peters casually. "Of
course I did. Every cent of it."

Banks looked at him in utter amazement. He,
too, scratched his head.
