The actresses and lazy demi-monde queens fluttered in always before sunset, together with a bevy of quacks, whose doubtful prescriptions were always put up by Timmins, easily capable of brazenly swearing to "a mistake," or denying upon oath the sale of any clumsy weapon of medical butchery.
It was also the time when the floating "shopping women" drifted in to reinforce their luncheons with Timmins' artfully veiled alcoholic preparations.
His row of bottles labelled "Vin Mariani," "Moxie," and "Nervura" were never empty, and the oldest toper would have found them veritable "well springs of joy in the desert." All the simple machinery of the mock pharmacy was so well oiled that even an expert could detect no commerce more dangerous than Lubin's Powders, crimson lip salve, or a powder puff.
"Fritz Braun, Manager," came and went with regularity, no man knowing of his home or family ties; the old golden sign of "Magdal's Pharmacy" covering whatever mystery was not hidden behind those gleaming blue glasses.
Save for his regular luncheon at the Cafe Bavaria, no Sixth Avenue habitue had ever seen Mr.Fritz Braun at concert, theater, or any of the places of local or suburban amusement.
As to woman, he seemed to be sternly indifferent, Save to the semi-professionals who were as anxious to escape Sing Sing's gloomy embrace as the man who supplied them with the drugs for their various "Ladies' Homes." These were welcome "Greeks bearing gifts" of the coveted "long green" which was Fritz Braun's god.
Braun was never in the pharmacy after six o'clock, and from that evening hour when all well-conducted men and women turn to dinner as the day's culmination, no one had ever set their eyes upon the bustling manager.
Friendless he seemed, yet ever cheerful, a man distantly respected for the open frankness of his business dealings, the order and quiet of his shop, and his rare capacity for minding his own business.
It was only in the evening that Mr.Ben Timmins' reign was uncontested.
The flashy young fellows of his caught-up friendships then lurked around Magdal's Pharmacy where Timmins dispensed complimentary drinks and lorded over his fluctuating harem of unemployed "soubrettes" and light-headed shop girls freed from their daily toil.
In a rough average at a half-way honesty, Timmins "turned in" habitually about half of the evening's receipts of the "joint," which, to use his own language, he "ran for all it was worth." He had soon lost all fear of his stern employer visiting him at random, and the clever London rascal now laughed detection to scorn.
For he always kept in hand one day's stealings so that, if suddenly "called down," he could glibly explain, "Slipped it in my pocket in my hurry! The shop was full!" While Timmins, returning from his breakfast on this busy Monday, wondered at Mr.Fritz Braun delaying his comfortable luncheon, Mr.Adolph Lilienthal was anxiously awaiting his secret partner in villainy at the "Newport Art Gallery." Perhaps the crowning secret of Braun's remarkable success was his clear-headed avoidance of mixing up the details of his various schemes.
Lilienthal knew nothing of Braun's whereabouts as to a real residence, and the colloquies and settlements of the two always took place in Lilienthal's little private office, proof against all eavesdroppers.
The Art Emporium, thronged with the curious, was the safest place in New York City for casual meetings, and, with a keen suspicion of his man, Lilienthal never visited Magdal's Pharmacy.

He realized that there might be danger and deception in his fellow villain's hospitality.
A doubt of Braun's ultimate end as a citizen had caused the smug dealer to always avoid Braun at the jolly Restaurant Bavaria, where the good-natured foreign convives often joined each other over a stein.
The "private interests" of the Newport Art Gallery were as jealously guarded as the inner secrets of Magdal's Pharmacy; furthermore, the hidden post-office, telegraph exchange, and "private room" busied the dealer from morn till eve.
Lilienthal was in a particularly good humor when he at last dispatched the Danube "artist proof" by an especial messenger to Mr.Randall Clayton's own rooms.

It had all fallen about in a spirit of graceful courtesy.

And three hearts bounded with a hidden delight when the happy incident occurred.
When Randall Clayton returned from the Astor Place Bank he had discovered Mr.Adolph Lilienthal in a particularly cheerful frame of mind.

The young cashier had hastened to his office and delivered over his bundle of exchange and checked-up bank-book.