The Dark Star

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE ROAD TO PARIS

  Over the drenched sea wall gulls whirled and eddied above the spoutingspray; the grey breakwater was smothered under exploding combers;_quai_, docks, white-washed lighthouse, swept with spindrift, appearedand disappeared through the stormy obscurity as the tender from theChannel packet fought its way shoreward with Neeland's luggage lashedin the cabin, and Neeland himself sticking to the deck like a fly to afrantic mustang, enchanted with the whole business.

  For the sea, at last, was satisfying this young man; he savoured nowwhat he had longed for as a little boy, guiding a home-made raft onthe waters of Neeland's mill pond in the teeth of a summer breeze.Before he had ever seen the ocean he wanted all it had to give shortof shipwreck and early decease. He had experienced it on the Channelduring the night.

  There was only one other passenger aboard--a tall, lean, immaculatelydressed man with a ghastly pallor, a fox face, and ratty eyes, wholooked like an American and who had been dreadfully sick. Not caringfor his appearance, Neeland did not speak to him. Besides, he washaving too good a time to pay attention to anybody or anything exceptthe sea.

  A sailor had lent Neeland some oilskins and a sou'-wester; and hehated to put them off--hated the calmer waters inside the basin wherethe tender now lay rocking; longed for the gale and the heavy seasagain, sorry the crossing was ended.

  He cast a last glance of regret at the white fury raging beyond thebreakwater as he disembarked among a crowd of porters, _gendarmes_,soldiers, and assorted officials; then, following his porter to thecustoms, he prepared to submit to the unvarying indignities incidentto luggage examination in France.

  He had leisure, while awaiting his turn, to buy a novel, "LesBizarettes," of Maurice Bertrand; time, also, to telegraph to thePrincess Mistchenka. The fox-faced man, who looked like an American,was now speaking French like one to a perplexed official, inquiringwhere the Paris train was to be found. Neeland listened to the fluentinformation on his own account, then returned to the customs bench.

  But the unusually minute search among his effects did not trouble him;the papers from the olive-wood box were buttoned in his breast pocket;and after a while the customs officials let him go to the train whichstood beside an uncovered concrete platform beyond the _quai_, andtoward which the fox-faced American had preceded him on legs thatstill wobbled with seasickness.

  There were no Pullmans attached to the train, only the usual first,second, and third class carriages with compartments; and a new stylecorridor car with central aisle and lettered doors to compartmentsholding four.

  Into one of these compartments Neeland stepped, hoping for seclusion,but backed out again, the place being full of artillery officersplaying cards.

  In vain he bribed the guard, who offered to do his best; but the humancontents of a Channel passenger steamer had unwillingly spent thenight in the quaint French port, and the Paris-bound train was alreadyfull.

  The best Neeland could do was to find a seat in a compartment where heinterrupted conversation between three men who turned sullen heads tolook at him, resenting in silence the intrusion. One of them was thefox-faced man he had already noticed on the packet, tender, andcustoms dock.

  But Neeland, whose sojourn in a raw and mannerless metropolis had notblotted out all memory of gentler cosmopolitan conventions, lifted hishat and smilingly excused his intrusion in the fluent and agreeableFrench of student days, before he noticed that he had to do with menof his own race.

  None of the men returned his salute; one of them merely emitted anirritated grunt; and Neeland recognised that they all must be his owndelightful country-men--for even the British are more dignified intheir stolidity.

  A second glance satisfied him that all three were undoubtedlyAmericans; the cut of their straw hats and apparel distinguished themas such; the nameless grace of Mart, Haffner and Sharx marked thetailoring of the three; only Honest Werner could have manufacturedsuch headgear; only New York such footwear.

  And Neeland looked at them once more and understood that Broadwayitself sat there in front of him, pasty, close-shaven, furtive,sullen-eyed, the _New York Paris Herald_ in its seal-ringed fingers;its fancy waistcoat pockets bulging with cigars.

  "Sports," he thought to himself; and decided to maintain incognito andpass as a Frenchman, if necessary, to escape conversation with thethree tired-eyed ones.

  So he hung up his hat, opened his novel, and settled back to endurethe trip through the rain, now beginning to fall from a low-saggingcloud of watery grey.

  After a few minutes the train moved. Later the guard passed andaccomplished his duties. Neeland inquired politely of him in Frenchwhether there was any political news, and the guard replied politelythat he knew of none. But he looked very serious when he said it.

  Half an hour from the coast the rain dwindled to a rainbow and ceased;and presently a hot sun was gilding wet green fields and hedges andglistening roofs which steamed vapour from every wet tile.

  Without asking anybody's opinion, one of the men opposite raised thewindow. But Neeland did not object; the rain-washed air wasdeliciously fragrant; and he leaned his elbow on his chair arm andlooked out across the loveliest land in Europe.

  "Say, friend," said an East Side voice at his elbow, "does smokinggo?"

  He glanced back over his shoulder at the speaker--a little, pallid,sour-faced man with the features of a sick circus clown and eyes liketwo holes burnt in a lump of dough.

  "_Pardon, monsieur?_" he said politely.

  "Can't you even pick a Frenchman, Ben?" sneered one of the menopposite--a square, smoothly shaven man with slow, heavy-lidded eyesof a greenish tinge.

  The fox-faced man said:

  "He had me fooled, too, Eddie. If Ben Stull didn't get his number itdon't surprise me none, becuz he was on the damn boat I crossed in,and I certainly picked him for New York."

  "Aw," said the pasty-faced little man referred to as Ben Stull, "Eddieknows it all. He never makes no breaks, of course. You make 'em, Doc,but he doesn't. That's why me and him and you is travelling here--thisminute--because the great Eddie Brandes never makes no breaks----"

  "Go on and smoke and shut up," said Brandes, with a slow, sidewiseglance at Neeland, whose eyes remained fastened on the pages of "LesBizarettes," but whose ears were now very wide open.

  "Smoke," repeated Stull, "when this here Frenchman may make aholler?"

  "Wait till I ask him," said the man addressed as Doc, with dignity.And to Neeland:

  "_Pardong, musseer, permitty vous moi de fumy ung cigar?_"

  "_Mais comment, donc, monsieur! Je vous en prie----_"

  "He says politely," translated Doc, "that we can smoke and be damnedto us."

  They lighted three obese cigars; Neeland, his eyes on his page,listened attentively and stole a glance at the man they calledBrandes.

  So this was the scoundrel who had attempted to deceive the young girlwho had come to him that night in his studio, bewildered with what shebelieved to be her hopeless disgrace!

  This was the man--this short, square, round-faced individual with hisminutely shaven face and slow greenish eyes, and his hair combed backand still reeking with perfumed tonic--this shiny, scented, andovergroomed sport with rings on his fat, blunt fingers and the silklaces on his tan oxfords as fastidiously tied as though a valet haddone it!

  Ben Stull began to speak; and presently Neeland discovered that thefox-faced man's name was Doc Curfoot; that he had just arrived fromLondon on receipt of a telegram from them; and that they themselveshad landed the night before from a transatlantic liner to await himhere.

  Doc Curfoot checked the conversation, which was becoming general now,saying that they'd better be very sure that the man oppositeunderstood no English before they became careless.

  "_Musseer_," he added suavely to Neeland, who looked up with a politesmile, "_parly voo Anglay_?"

  "_Je parle Francais, monsieur._"

  "I get him," said Stull, sourly. "I knew it anyway. He's got the
sissymanners of a Frenchy, even if he don't look the part. No white mantips his lid to nobody except a swell skirt."

  "I seen two dudes do it to each other on Fifth Avenue," remarkedCurfoot, and spat from the window.

  Brandes, imperturbable, rolled his cigar into the corner of his mouthand screwed his greenish eyes to narrow slits.

  "You got our wire, Doc?"

  "Why am I here if I didn't!"

  "Sure. Have an easy passage?"

  Doc Curfoot's foxy visage still wore traces of the greenish pallor; helooked pityingly at Brandes--_self_-pityingly:

  "Say, Eddie, that was the worst I ever seen. A freight boat, too. God!I was that sick I hoped she'd turn turtle! And nab it from me; if youhadn't wired me S O S, I'd have waited over for the steamer train andthe regular boat!"

  "Well, it's S O S all right, Doc. I got a cable from Quint thismorning saying our place in Paris is ready, and we're to be there andopen up tonight----"

  "_What_ place?" demanded Curfoot.

  "Sure, I forgot. You don't know anything yet, do you?"

  "Eddie," interrupted Stull, "let me do the talking _this_ time, if_you_ please."

  And, to Curfoot:

  "Listen, Doc. We was up against it. You heard. Every little thing haswent wrong since Eddie done what he done--every damn thing! Lookwhat's happened since Maxy Venem got sore and he and Minna started outto get him! Morris Stein takes away the Silhouette Theatre from us andwe can't get no time for 'Lilith' on Broadway. We go on the road andbust. All our Saratoga winnings goes, also what we got invested withParson Smawley when the bulls pulled Quint's----!"

  "Ah, f'r the lov' o' Mike!" began Brandes. "Can that stuff!"

  "All right, Eddie. I'm tellin' Doc, that's all. I ain't aiming to beno crape-hanger; I only want you both to listen to me _this_ time. If_you'd_ listened to me before, we'd have been in Saratoga today in ourown machines. But no; you done what you done--God! Did anyone everhear of such a thing!--taking chances with that little rube fromBrookhollow--that freckled-faced mill-hand--that yap-skirt! And Minnaand Max having you watched all the time! You big boob! No--don'tinterrupt! Listen to _me_! Where are you now? You had good money; youhad a theaytre, you had backing! Quint was doing elegant; Doc andParson and you and me had it all our way and comin' faster every day.Wait, I tell you! This ain't a autopsy. This is business. I'm tellin'you two guys all this becuz I want you to realise that what Eddie donewas against my advice. Come on, now; wasn't it?"

  "It sure was," admitted Curfoot, removing his cigar from his lean,pointed visage of a greyhound, and squinting thoughtfully at the smokeeddying in the draught from the open window.

  "Am I right, Eddie?" demanded Stull, fixing his black, smeary eyes onBrandes.

  "Well, go on," returned the latter between thin lips that scarcelymoved.

  "All right, then. Here's the situation, Doc. We're broke. If Quinthadn't staked us to this here new game we're playin', where'd we be, Iask you?

  "We got no income now. Quint's is shut up; Maxy Venem and Minna Mintifixed us at Saratoga so we can't go back there for a while. They won'tlet us touch a card on the liners. Every pug is leery of us sinceEddie flimflammed that Battling Smoke; and I told you he'd holler,too! Didn't I?" turning on Brandes, who merely let his slow eyes reston him without replying.

  "Go on, Ben," said Curfoot.

  "I'm going on. We guys gotta do something----"

  "We ought to have fixed Max Venem," said Curfoot coolly.

  There was a silence; all three men glanced stealthily at Neeland, whoquietly turned the page of his book as though absorbed in his story.

  "That squealer, Max," continued Curfoot with placid ferocity blazingin his eyes, "ought to have been put away. Quint and Parson wanted usto have it done. Was it any stunt to get that dirty little shyster insome roadhouse last May?"

  Brandes said:

  "I'm not mixing with any gunmen after the Rosenthal business."

  "Becuz a lot of squealers done a amateur job like that, does it saythat a honest job can't be pulled?" demanded Curfoot. "Did Quint andme ask you to go to Dopey or Clabber or Pete the Wop, or any of themcheap gangsters?"

  "Ah, can the gun-stuff," said Brandes. "I'm not for it. It's punk."

  "What's punk?"

  "Gun-play."

  "Didn't you pull a pop on Maxy Venem the night him and Hyman Adams andMinna beat you up in front of the Knickerbocker?"

  "Eddie was stalling," interrupted Stull, as Brandes' face turned adull beef-red. "You talk like a bad actor, Doc. There's other ways ofgetting Max in wrong. Guns ain't what they was once. Gun-play is oldstuff. But listen, now. Quint has staked us and we gotta make good.And this is a big thing, though it looks like it was out of ourline."

  "Go on; what's the idea?" inquired Curfoot, interested.

  Brandes, the dull red still staining his heavy face, watched theflying landscape from the open window.

  Stull leaned forward; Curfoot bent his lean, narrow head nearer;Neeland, staring fixedly at his open book, pricked up his ears.

  "Now," said Stull in a low voice, "I'll tell you guys all Eddie and Iknow about this here business of Captain Quint's. It's like this,Doc: Some big feller comes to Quint after they close him up--he won'ttell who--and puts up this here proposition: Quint is to open aelegant place in Paris on the Q. T. In fact, it's ready now. There'llbe all the backing Quint needs. He's to send over three men he cantrust--three men who can shoot at a pinch! He picks us three andstakes us. Get me?"

  Doc nodded.

  Brandes said in his narrow-eyed, sleepy way:

  "There was a time when they called us gunmen--Ben and me. But, so helpme God, Doc, we never did any work like that ourselves. We never fireda shot to croak any living guy. Did we, Ben?"

  "All right," said Stull impatiently. And, to Curfoot: "Eddie and Iknow what we're to do. If it's on the cards that we shoot--well, then,we'll shoot. The place is to be small, select, private, and firstclass. Doc, you act as capper. You deal, too. Eddie sets 'em up. Ideal or spin. All right. We three guys attend to anything Americanthat blows our way. Get that?"

  Curfoot nodded.

  "Then for the foreigners, there's to be a guy called Karl Breslau."

  Neeland managed to repress a start, but the blood tingled in hischeeks, and he turned his head a trifle as though seeking better lighton the open pages in his hands.

  "This here man Breslau," continued Stull, "speaks all kinds oflanguages. He is to have two friends with him, a fellow named Kestnerand one called Weishelm. They trim the foreigners, they do; and----"

  "Well, I don't see nothing new about this----" began Curfoot; butStull interrupted:

  "Wait, can't you! This ain't the usual. We run a place for Quint. Theplace is like Quint's. We trim guys same as he does--or did. _Butthere's more to it._"

  He let his eyes rest on Neeland, obliquely, for a full minute. Theothers watched him, too. Presently the young man cut another page ofhis book with his pen-knife and turned it with eager impatience, asthough the story absorbed him.

  "Don't worry about Frenchy," murmured Brandes with a shrug. "Go ahead,Ben."

  Stull laid one hand on Curfoot's shoulder, drawing that gentleman atrifle nearer and sinking his voice:

  "Here's the new stuff, Doc," he said. "And it's brand new to us, too.There's big money into it. Quint swore we'd get ours. And as we was onour uppers we went in. It's like this: We lay for Americans from theEmbassy or from any of the Consulates. They are our special game. Itain't so much that we trim them; we also get next to them; we make 'emtalk right out in church. Any political dope they have we try to get.We get it any way we can. If they'll accelerate we accelerate 'em; ifnot, we dope 'em and take their papers. The main idee is to get a holton 'em!

  "That's what Quint wants; that's what he's payin' for and gettin' paidfor--inside information from the Embassy and Consulates----"

  "What does Quint want of that?" demanded Curfoot, astonished.

  "How do I know? Blackmail? Graft? I can't call the dope. But
listenhere! Don't forget that it ain't Quint who wants it. It's the bigfeller behind him who's backin' him. It's some swell guy higher upwho's payin' Quint. And Quint, he pays us. So where's the squealcoming?"

  "Yes, but----"

  "Where's the holler?" insisted Stull.

  "I ain't hollerin', am I? Only this here is new stuff to me----"

  "Listen, Doc. I don't know what it is, but all these here Europeankings is settin' watchin' one another like toms in a back alley. Ithink that some foreign political high-upper wants dope on what ourpeople are finding out over here. Like this, he says to himself: 'Ihear this Kink is building ten sooper ferry boats. If that's right, Ioughta know. And I hear that the Queen of Marmora has ordered amillion new nifty fifty-shot bean-shooters for the boy scouts! That isindeed serious news!' So he goes to his broker, who goes to a bigfeller, who goes to Quint, who goes to us. Flag me?"

  "Sure."

  "That's all. There's nothing to it, Doc. Says Quint to us: 'Trim a fewguys for me and get their letters,' says Quint; 'and there's somethin'in it for me and you!' And _that's_ the new stuff, Doc."

  "You mean we're spies?"

  "Spies? I don't know. We're on a salary. We get a big bonus for everyletter we find on the carpet----" He winked at Curfoot and relightedhis cigar.

  "Say," said the latter, "it's like a creeping joint. It's a panelgame, Ben----"

  "It's politics like they play 'em in Albany, only it's ambassadors andkinks we trim, not corporations."

  "_We_ can't do it! What the hell do we know about kinks andattaches?"

  "No; Weishelm, Breslau and Kestner do that. We lay for the attaches orspin or deal or act handy at the bar and buffet with homesickAmericans. No; the fine work--the high-up stuff, is done by Breslauand Weishelm. And I guess there's some fancy skirts somewhere in thegame. But they're silent partners; and anyway Weishelm manages thatpart."

  Curfoot, one lank knee over the other, swung his foot thoughtfully toand fro, his ratty eyes lost in dreamy revery. Brandes tossed hishalf-consumed cigar out of the open window and set fire to another.Stull waited for Curfoot to make up his mind. After several minutesthe latter looked up from his cunning abstraction:

  "Well, Ben, put it any way you like, but we're just plain politicalspies. And what the hell do they hand us over here if we're pinched?"

  "I don't know. What of it?"

  "Nothing. If there's good money in it, I'll take a chance."

  "There is. Quint backs us. When we get 'em coming----"

  "Ah," said Doc with a wry face, "that's all right for the cards or thewheel. But this pocket picking----"

  "Say; that ain't what I mean. It's like this: Young Fitznoodle of theEmbassy staff gets soused and starts out lookin' for a quiet game. Wefurnish the game. We don't go through his pockets; we just pick upwhatever falls out and take shorthand copies. Then back go the lettersinto Fitznoodle's pocket----"

  "Yes. Who reads 'em first?"

  "Breslau. Or some skirt, maybe."

  "What's Breslau?"

  "Search _me_. He's a Dutchman or a Rooshian or some sort of Dodo. Whatdo you care?"

  "I don't. All right, Ben. You've got to show me; that's all."

  "Show you what?"

  "Spot cash!"

  "You're in when you handle it?"

  "If you show me real money--yes."

  "You're on. I'll cash a cheque of Quint's for you at Monroe's soon aswe hit the asphalt! And when you finish counting out your gold nickelsput 'em in your pants and play the game! Is that right?"

  "Yes."

  They exchanged a wary handshake; then, one after another, they leanedback in their seats with the air of honest men who had done theirday's work.

  Curfoot blinked at Brandes, at his excessively groomed person, at hisrings.

  "You _look_ prosperous, Eddie."

  "It's his business to," remarked Stull.

  Brandes yawned:

  "It would be a raw deal if there's a war over here," he saidlistlessly.

  "Ah," said Curfoot, "there won't be none."

  "Why?"

  "The Jews and bankers won't let these kinks mix it."

  "That's right, too," nodded Brandes.

  But Stull said nothing and his sour, pasty visage turned sourer. Itwas the one possibility that disturbed him--the only fly in theamber--the only mote that troubled his clairvoyance. Also, he was theonly man among the three who didn't think a thing was certain tohappen merely because he wanted it to happen.

  There was another matter, too, which troubled him. Brandes wasunreliable. And who but little Stull should know how unreliable?

  For Brandes had always been that. And now Stull knew him to be morethan that--knew him to be treacherous.

  Whatever in Brandes had been decent, or had, blindly perhaps, aspiredtoward decency, was now in abeyance. Something within him had gone tosmash since Minna Minti had struck him that night in the frightenedpresence of Rue Carew.

  And from that night, when he had lost the only woman who had everstirred in him the faintest aspiration to better things, the man hadgradually changed. Whatever in his nature had been unreliable becametreacherous; his stolidity became sullenness. A slow ferocity burnedwithin him; embers of a rage which no brooding ever quenched slumberedred in his brain until his endless meditation became a monomania. Andhis monomania was the ruin of this woman who had taken from him in thevery moment of consummation all that he had ever really loved in theworld--a thin, awkward, freckled, red-haired country girl, in whom,for the first and only time in all his life, he saw the vague andphantom promise of that trinity which he had never known--a wife, achild, and a home.

  He sat there by the car window glaring out of his dull green eyes atthe pleasant countryside, his thin lips tightening and relaxing on hiscigar.

  Curfoot, still pondering over the "new stuff" offered him, broodedsilently in his corner, watching the others out of his tiny, brighteyes.

  "Do anything in London?" inquired Stull.

  "No."

  "Who was you working for?"

  "A jock and a swell skirt. But Scotland Yard got next and chased themain guy over the water."

  "What was your lay?"

  "Same thing. I dealt for the jock and the skirt trimmed the squabs."

  "Anybody holler?"

  "Aw--the kind we squeezed was too high up to holler. Them young lordstake their medicine like they wanted it. They ain't like the homebunch that is named after swell hotels."

  After a silence he looked up at Brandes:

  "What ever become of Minna Minti?" he asked.

  Brandes' heavy features remained stolid.

  "She got her divorce, didn't she?" insisted Curfoot.

  "Yes."

  "Alimony?"

  "No. She didn't ask any."

  "How about Venem?"

  Brandes remained silent, but Stull said:

  "I guess she chucked him. She wouldn't stand for that snake. I got tohand it to her; she ain't that kind."

  "What kind is she?"

  "I tell you I got to hand it to her. I can't complain of her. Sheacted white all right until Venem stirred her up. Eddie's got himselfto blame; he got in wrong and Venem had him followed and showed him upto Minna."

  "You got tired of her, didn't you?" said Curfoot to Brandes. But Stullanswered for him again:

  "Like any man, Eddie needed a vacation now and then. But no skirtunderstands."

  Brandes said slowly:

  "I'll live to fix Minna yet."

  "What fixed you," snapped Stull, "was that there Brookhollowstuff----"

  "Can it!" retorted Brandes, turning a deep red.

  "Aw--don't hand me the true-love stuff, Eddie! If you'd meant it withthat little haymaker you'd have respected her----"

  Brandes' large face became crimson with rage:

  "You say another word about her and I'll push your block off--youlittle dough-faced kike!"

  Stull shrugged and presently whispered to Curfoot:

  "That's the play he always make
s. I've waited two years, but he won'tring down on the love stuff. I guess he was hit hard that trip. Ittook a little red-headed, freckled country girl to stop him. But itwas comin' to Eddie Brandes, and it certainly looks like it was thereto stay a while."

  "He's still stuck on her?"

  "I guess she's still the fly paper," nodded Stull.

  Suddenly Brandes turned on Stull such a look of concentrated hatredthat the little gambler's pallid features stiffened with surprise:

  "Ben," said Brandes in a low voice, which was too indistinct forNeeland to catch, "I'll tell you something now that you don't know. Isaw Quint alone; I talked with him. Do you know who is handling thebig stuff in this deal?"

  "Who?" asked Stull, amazed.

  "The Turkish Embassy in Paris. And do you know who plays the fineItalian hand for that bunch of Turks?"

  "No."

  "Minna!"

  "You're crazy!"

  Brandes took no notice, but went on with a sort of hushed ferocitythat silenced both Stull and Curfoot:

  "That's why I went in. To get Minna. And I'll get her if it costsevery cent I've got or ever hope to get. That's why I'm in this deal;that's why I came; that's why I'm here telling you this. I'm in it toget Minna, not for the money, not for anything in all God's worldexcept to get the woman who has done what Minna did to me."

  Neeland listened in vain to the murmuring voice; he could not catch aword.

  Stull whispered:

  "Aw, f'r God's sake, Eddie, that ain't the game. Do you want todouble-cross Quint?"

  "I _have_ double-crossed him."

  "What! Do you mean to sell him out?"

  "I _have_ sold him out."

  "Jesus! Who to?"

  "To the British Secret Service. And there's to be one hundred thousanddollars in it, Doc, for you and me to divide. And fifty thousand morewhen we put the French bulls on to Minna and Breslau. Now, how doesone hundred and fifty thousand dollars against five thousand apiecestrike you two poor, cheap guys?"

  But the magnitude of Brandes' treachery and the splendour of the dealleft the two gamblers stunned.

  Only by their expressions could Neeland judge that they werediscussing matters of vital importance to themselves and probably tohim. He listened; he could not hear what they were whispering. Andonly at intervals he dared glance over his book in their direction.

  "Well," said Brandes under his breath, "go on. Spit it out. What's thesqueal?"

  "My God!" whispered Stull. "Quint will kill you."

  Brandes laughed unpleasantly:

  "Not me, Ben. I've got that geezer where I want him on a dirty deal hepulled off with the police."

  Curfoot turned his pointed muzzle toward the window and sneered at thesunny landscape.

  A few minutes later, far across the rolling plain set with villas andfarms, and green with hedgerows, gardens, bouquets of trees andcultivated fields, he caught sight of a fairy structure outlinedagainst the sky. Turning to Brandes:

  "There's the Eiffel Tower," remarked Curfoot. "Where are we stopping,Eddie?"

  "Caffy des Bulgars."

  "Where's that?"

  "It's where we go to work--Roo Vilna."

  Stull's smile was ghastly, but Curfoot winked at Brandes.

  Neeland listened, his eyes following the printed pages of his book.