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Standing before hi up with a warm, impish smile-was a

handsome, dark-haired man in his early forties He wore an expensive coat with a fur collar and on his head a yarmulka-a small, round disk of a velvet hat that bespoke the Hebrew faith

“I am perplexed,” said Bell “Who are you, sir?”

“I am Andrew Rubenoff” He thrust out his hand “And you are Isaac Bell”

Astonished, Bell asked, “How did you know?”

“Sheer coincidence Not coincidence that I recognize you Just coincidence that I saw you standing here Looking perplexed”

“How did you recognize me?”

“Your photograph”

Bell raphers As he had reminded Marion, a detective had no use for a famous face

Rubenoff s “Not to worry I have only seen your photograph on your father’s desk”

“Ah You’ve done business with my father”

Rubenoff waggled his hand in a yes-and-no gesture “On occasion, we consult”

“You’re a banker?”

“So I am told,” he said “In truth, when I arrived from Russia, I was not impressed by New York’s Lower East Side, so I took a train across the country In San Francisco, I opened a saloon Eventually, I irl whose father owned a bank, and the rest is a very pleasant history”

“Would you have time to join me at lunch?” said Isaac Bell “I need to talk to a banker”