“That’s what he calls it.  But it’s nothing but a concert hall with jugglers and tumblers thrown in.”

I did not relish the idea of going into such a place, and I knew that my sister Kate and the Widow Canby would be horrified when they heard of it.

“What kind of a man is this Holtzmann?” I continued, seeing that the man I had accosted was inclined to talk.

“Oh, he’s a good enough kind of a fellow if you know how to take him,” was the reply.  “He’s a bit cranky if he’s had a glass too much, but that don’t happen often.”

“Does he run the place himself?”

“What, tend bar and so?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no; he’s too high-toned for that.  He only bosses things.  They say he’s rich.  Be came from the East some years ago with quite a little money, and he’s been adding to it ever since.”

“Then you know him quite well?”

“Worked for him two years.  Then he up one day and declared I was robbing him.  We had a big row, and I got out.”

“Did he have you arrested?”

“Arrested?  Not much.  He knew better than to try such a game on me.  When I was in his employ I kept my eyes and ears open, and I knew too much about his private affairs for him to push me, even if I had been guilty.  Oh, Sammy Simpson knows a thing or two.”

“That is your name?”

“Yes; Samuel A. Simpson.  Generally called Sammy for short.  I was his bookkeeper and corresponding clerk.”

“Maybe you’re just the man I want to see,” I said.  “Do you know anything about Mr. Holtzmann’s private affairs in the East?”

“In Brooklyn?”

“Yes.”

Sammy Simpson hesitated for a moment.

“Maybe I do,” he replied, with a shrewd look in his eyes.  “Is there anything to be made out of it?”

“I will pay you for whatever you do for me.”

“Then I’m your huckleberry.  Who are you and what do you want to know?”

CHAPTER XXVII

 The Palace of Pleasure

Mr. Sammy Simpson was a character.  He was tall and slim, certainly not less than fifty years of age, but with an evident desire to appear much younger.  His face was cleanly shaven, and when he removed his hat to scratch his head I saw that he was nearly bald.

He was dressed in a light check suit and wore patent-leather shoes.  I put him down as a dandy, but fond of drink, and that he proved to be.

“Whom do you work for now?” I asked.

“No one.  To tell the truth, I’m down on my luck and I’m waiting for something to turn up.”

“You say you worked for Holtzmann two years ago?”

“No, I said I worked for him two years.  I only left last month.”

“And he accused you of stealing?”

“Yes; but it was only to get rid of me because I knew too much of his private affairs.”