He employed no workmen, lived alone over his shop on one of the lower streets between Fifth and Sixth Avenues near Washington Square--and possessed a splendid contempt for such protective contrivances as safes and vaults.

If his prospective patrons expostulated on this score before intrusting him with their valuables, they were at liberty to take their work elsewhere.

It was Max Diestricht who honoured you by accepting the commission; not you who honoured Max Diestricht by intrusting him with it.

"Of what use is it to me, a safe!" he would exclaim.

"It hides nothing; it only says, 'I am inside; do not look farther; come and get me!' Yes?
It is to explode with the nitro-glycerin--POUF!--and I am deaf and I hear nothing.