Then one evening matters reached a crisis.  Marcus Schouler was in his room, the room in the flat just over McTeague’s “Parlors” which he had always occupied.  It was between eleven and twelve o’clock.  The vast house was quiet; Polk Street outside was very still, except for the occasional whirr and trundle of a passing cable car and the persistent calling of ducks and geese in the deserted market directly opposite.  Marcus was in his shirt sleeves, perspiring and swearing with exertion as he tried to get all his belongings into an absurdly inadequate trunk.  The room was in great confusion.  It looked as though Marcus was about to move.  He stood in front of his trunk, his precious silk hat in its hat-box in his hand.  He was raging at the perverseness of a pair of boots that refused to fit in his trunk, no matter how he arranged them.

“I’ve tried you so, and I’ve tried you so,” he exclaimed fiercely, between his teeth, “and you won’t go.”  He began to swear horribly, grabbing at the boots with his free hand.  “Pretty soon I won’t take you at all; I won’t, for a fact.”

He was interrupted by a rush of feet upon the back stairs and a clamorous pounding upon his door.  He opened it to let in Maria Macapa, her hair dishevelled and her eyes starting with terror.

“Oh, Mister Schouler,” she gasped, “lock the door quick.  Don’t let him get me.  He’s got a knife, and he says sure he’s going to do for me, if I don’t tell him where it is.”

“Who has?  What has?  Where is what?” shouted Marcus, flaming with excitement upon the instant.  He opened the door and peered down the dark hall, both fists clenched, ready to fight—­he did not know whom, and he did not know why.

“It’s Zerkow,” wailed Maria, pulling him back into the room and bolting the door, “and he’s got a knife as long as that.  Oh, my Lord, here he comes now!  Ain’t that him?  Listen.”

Zerkow was coming up the stairs, calling for Maria.

“Don’t you let him get me, will you, Mister Schouler?” gasped Maria.

“I’ll break him in two,” shouted Marcus, livid with rage.  “Think I’m afraid of his knife?”

“I know where you are,” cried Zerkow, on the landing outside.  “You’re in Schouler’s room.  What are you doing in Schouler’s room at this time of night?  Come outa there; you oughta be ashamed.  I’ll do for you yet, my girl.  Come outa there once, an’ see if I don’t.”

“I’ll do for you myself, you dirty Jew,” shouted Marcus, unbolting the door and running out into the hall.

“I want my wife,” exclaimed the Jew, backing down the stairs.  “What’s she mean by running away from me and going into your room?”

“Look out, he’s got a knife!” cried Maria through the crack of the door.

“Ah, there you are.  Come outa that, and come back home,” exclaimed Zerkow.

“Get outa here yourself,” cried Marcus, advancing on him angrily.  “Get outa here.”