Valentine Williams

“ Before one of these cellar entrances the Jew stopped. At the foot of the steep staircase leading down from the street was a glazed door, its panels all glistening with moisture from the heated atmosphere within. Kore led the way down, I following.
A nauseous wave of hot air, mingled with rank tobacco smoke, smote us full as we opened the door. At first I could see nothing except a very fat man, against a dense curtain of smoke, sitting at a table before an enormous glass goblet of beer. ”

“ I queried.
"This is all very well, young Sir," said the Jew. "You come in here from nowhere, you introduce yourself as Meyer; you ask me 'Who?' and 'What?' and 'Where?'—questions that, mark you, in my business, may have valuable answers. We private enquiry agents must live, my dear sir, we must eat and drink like other men, and these are hard times, very hard times. I will ask you a question if I may. Meyer? Who is Meyer? Everybody in this country is called Meyer!"
I smiled at this bizarre speech.
"This Eichenholz, now," I said, ". . . supposing he were my brother." ”

“ Have you no idea? . . . come, I'm ready to pay."
"Perhaps . . ." the Jew began.
"What? Perhaps what?" I exclaimed impatiently.
"Possibly. . . ."
"Out with it, man!" I cried, "and say what you mean."
"Perhaps, if I could render to the gentleman the service I rendered to his brother, I might be able to throw light. . . ."
"What service did you render to my brother?" I demanded hastily. "I'm in the dark."
"Has the gentleman no little difficulty perhaps? . . . about his military service, about his papers? The gentleman is young and strong . . . has he been to the front? Was life irksome there? ”