Get out quickly by the side door." Emil Einstein was safely across the Fulton Ferry before he had realized the startling change in Fritz Braun's appearance.

The flowing golden beard, the blue glasses, the padded clothes of middle-age cut were gone.

Fritz Braun, lithe, sharp-faced, with piercing eyes, a dashing cavalry mustache, and dapper Wall Street tailoring, was twenty years younger, and another man.
His diamond jewels, rakish air and "loose fish" manner bespoke the flush book-maker or the flashy "boss." "Here's for a night on the Bowery," gleefully cried Einstein, counting his Judas gains, while he tried to forget Fritz Braun's lightning change.
That dapper gentleman, stepping into a closet, passed swiftly through the door from the Valkyrie into 192 Layte Street.

His hidden pool-room, gambling den and exchange for soul and body was temporarily forgotten by "Mr.August Meyer," owner of the peerless "Valkyrie Saloon." "I'll get a carriage and drive over to Irma," he growled.

"She must never cross the river again.