And then, in black despair when all but one were ready to concede defeat, the atmosphere subtly altered and the luck began to flow the other way.

Afterwards all argued about the change in atmosphere. But Maureen knew. The closed room, with its dismembered furniture all pushed back against the walls, was half-stifling from locked windows and locked crimson blinds. The room was an open space of dirty concrete flooring.

But Maureen, all of whose thoughts were concentrated on Alvarez, saw that the atmosphere came from him. Juan Alvarez, seeming leaner in his trim, tight-fitting uniform which brought out the breadth of shoulder, stood in the middle of the open space.

And Maureen, who had her arm round Paula's waist, felt her imperceptible start. For the first time since Paula and Alvarez had been at the door of this flat, Paula heard the Commandant let out the full power of his voice.

"I am not at all convinced of that, Mr. Collier," said the Commandant. "You fool! We have not even begun to show our evidence!"

Dead silence.

The Arab policeman whistled. Collier, lounging against the wall near one crimson shutter, the cigarette paper stuck to his lower lip, merely breathed out smoke.

"You still don't get it, wise guy. I can't be bothered with you saps much longer. I've got business. I've gotta go out . .”

Colonel Duroc's voice, now cold and calm, struck in.

"You will not be permitted to leave here," he said.

"So I won't?" asked Collier softly, lifting red eyebrows and mouthing smoke. "So there'll be plenty big trouble at the legation, when I spill it. Suit yourself."

Alvarez made a gesture which made even his Colonel pause.

"Are you a betting man, Mr. Collier?" he asked in English and with a voice which seemed inspired of the devil. "If so, I will accept any wager you care to offer that within fifteen minutes we shall have enough evidence to take you away in handcuffs."

There was a buzz among the policemen, who were required to speak French, Spani i, and Arabic, but not English. One who evidently knew a little of the last-named language was hissing an explanation. Collier merely looked weary. And Colonel Duroc unobtrusively plucked at the Commandant's sleeve.

"Alvarez!"

"Yes, sir?"

"A word aside with you. Come over to this dismembered couch near the bathroom door. Good."

Their whispered talk, in French, did not carry to another person in the room.

"Alvarez, is this a bluff?"

"No, sir. I never bluff, and I despise those who do."

"You would be a bad strategist in war, Alvarez."

"Of that I am aware," said Alvarez, who could feel humility as only those of high soul can feel it. "It is my one imbecile's principle, sir. I would prove that for the rest I am not stupid. May I explain?"

Clearly Alvarez could not see that Duroc was inwardly raging, all against the Commandant. More bitter in the Colonel's mind was Alvarez's dereliction of duty last night; his greeting of Maureen this morning; bitterest of all, the vanishing of the diamonds now, which he also blamed on Alvarez. Colonel Duroc was not himself. Though retaining something of his outer suavity, his mind had darkened.

"Continue, Alvarez," he said huskily.

"I was not present at the conference between you and Sir Henry Merrivale on the terrace at your home . . ."

"Ah! If I could but lay my hands on that sleeping beauty!"

"This conference lasted from early afternoon until seven o'clock in the evening. Then you, Sir Henry, and Miss Holmes drove down from the Old Mountain, and you stopped briefly to see me at the Central Station to tell me what had been decided."

"Yes, yes? And what is this to our sheep?"

"Pardon, sir. You had decided that this man Collier, a diamond cutter, was the accomplice of Iron Chest; and that Iron Chest himself slipped invisibly from the scene. Sir, sir," pleaded Alvarez, "your deductions were admirable and had sound reason . . .

"You flatter both of us," murmured the Colonel. "Also practical, perhaps, since Sir Henry foresaw the attempt to rob Bernstein et Cie. last night?"

Alvarez swallowed hard.

"True, sir. But your main deductions, I respectfully submit, must remain suppositions and not facts. Both you and Sir Henry are fond of playing the game of the clever against the super-clever, the super-clever against the supreme-clever, as you think Iron Chest will do against you. But it becomes too involved."

"Indeed," the Colonel said flatly.

"In my humble opinion," begged Alvarez, "and as you said yourself a while ago, it is the obvious we do not see. I believe this man Collier is Iron Chest himself; that there was no second person. Using sheer daring —always his weapon —he walked straight through our immigration and customs as he did through Lisbon. Sir, may I be allowed to pin him down?"

Though Duroc spoke no more curtly, the inside of his mind grew blacker.

"You may," he said. "But my position, as well as administrative, is also diplomatic. If you make one mistake—"

"Thank you, sir," said Alvarez, and turned on his heel and swung round.

The policemen, whispering and gesticulating, were now drawn up in a long line across the front of the fireplace. Paula and Maureen, by some commonly shared impulse, stood with their backs to the kitchenette sink. Alvarez's footsteps struck hard on the concrete as he strode to the middle of it.

"If I speak in English," he said clearly, "is because I wish," he nodded towards Collier without referring to him, "clearly to understand every word I say." Now he did look at the thick figure in the whitish suit. "Mr. Collier," he added pleasantly, "much depends on certain questions I should like to ask you. Will you answer the questions?"

Still lounging against the wall, Collier turned his head and in a dreary way let smoke fall out of his mouth.

"How silly can you get?" he asked, referring to himself. "I should say something without a lawyer here? Shove it, wise guy."

"I might remind you," Alvarez said pleasantly, "that you are not even charged with any offence, much less imprisoned. You do not need a lawyer."

Collier did not condescend to reply.

"Well, that is your right," Alvarez conceded, still pleasantly. He took a step away, and then swung back. "But it is interesting," he added, "to confirm my original opinion of you. You are merely a fat coward, without courage to answer questions when you are unprotected."

And that tore it.

A yell of pure ecstasy went up from the one policeman who understood English.

Collier swung round, tearing the cigarette from his lip and flinging it away. Slowly, at his languid but truculent prize-fighter's walk, he moved over and faced Alvarez in the open space.

Maureen, more sensitive than the English girl, felt that she could not stand the tension much longer. But not Paula. Paula stood upright, face rather flushed; cool, almost eager, calm eyes of appraisal on Alvarez and Collier.

"Now look!" snarled Collier. "Make another crack like that-"

"Yes?" prompted Alvarez, raising his eyebrows politely and looking still more pleasant.

"I'd hate to hafta hurt you, sonny," said Collier languidly. "I'd just smear you all over this floor."

"But I thought you could not be bothered. It would be unpleasant for me," Alvarez smiled silkily, "if you hurt me."

"Yeah; sure; now you're catching on." The sneer on Collier's large face seemed less pronounced. "Just don't get me sore; I warned you. Now look! You think I never been around? You think I was never on the witness stand?"

"Quite often, I should imagine."

"And you're not kidding, either. They send their smart lawyers against me, and I tie 'em up in knots. It'd kill you! You got some questions for me? Okay, smart guy. Give. I'll answer 'em."

"Thank you," said Alvarez. He pointed to Maureen's copy of the Gazette, still clutched in the Colonel's hand. "Can you deny," asked Alvarez, in a slightly different voice, "it was you who put that advertisement, about leasing this fiat, in yesterday's Tangier Gazette?"

"Pal, I just wouldn't know. And you couldn't prove a thing."

"No?" said Alvarez, instantly producing more documents. "You sent it to the newspaper three days ago, by cable and money order when you first ordered the flat, from Messrs. Cook's main office in Lisbon. You asked for the advertisement to appear yesterday. When you were interrogated at the airport, you of course were secretly photographed. A radio-photo was sent to Lisbon last night. This morning a cable," he held up the cable, "identifies you as the man who sent the advertisement to the Gazette. Do you deny this?"

Again Collier regarded him with a fishy half-smile.

"So I get me a room at the Riff Hotel. So I get me an apartment, too, and then think maybe that's not so good. Having both, see? So I wanna sublet the apartment." Collier's pale eyes opened wide, in a simulation of real interest. "Say, Counseller, is any of them things a crime?"

"This flat was a trap. Which of these young ladies did you try to trap —Mrs. Bentley or Miss Holmes?"

Collier put his head on one side.

" 'Have you stopped cheating at poker?' "he jeered. "Now what kind of a question is that? A judge would jump all over it. You better let me help you, wise guy."

"I asked you-!"

"Look. You wanna know about the dames? I never seen either of 'em before. Did I try to 'trap' either one? Shove it. They tried to bust in; one of 'em did bust in; and I tried to keep 'em out."

Collier lifted his hand, and also his padded shoulders, to forestall objection.

"So you wanna talk about diamonds and iron chests?" Now his fiat nostrils grew wider. "So what? Did you get 'em? Did you find what a screwy broad told you? Don't make me laugh. You haven't got a thing on me, and you know it."

Maureen Holmes' heart sank. The questioning seemed to have been going badly for Alvarez. In the background, motionless and without a word, stood Colonel Duroc.

"Jeez, what a rotten lawyer you'd make," sneered Collier. "I twisted you up in knots, didn't I? Like I said. Why, even this cable-" Casually he stretched out his hand.

"Don't touch those papers, swine?"

Then Collier's tenor voice went high.

"So you want trouble, wise guy?"

"Yes!" roared Alvarez. Instantly his heavy voice sank to a polite, suave growl. "But not until you have answered another question, Mr. Collier."

In two seconds something would explode, and everybody knew it.

Despite his languid face, Collier was shaking with rage. Alvarez was controlled, except that occasionally he would loosen his shoulders in the trim, tight-fitting uniform. Paula Bentley, noiseless in her sandals even on a gritty floor, crept out to a position against the corridor wall, so that she saw the two men in profile. Beyond them stood the line of policemen.

"So the poor sap wants a question," said Collier to his invisible companion. "Ain't I done enough to help him? But okay, wise guy, give."

"What is your nationality, Mr. Collier?"

Collier seemed —almost, at least—amazed.

"Didn' I tell you?" He pushed out his chest. "I'm an Amurrican citizen!"

"Er . . . naturalized, of course?"

Collier took a step backwards, while Alvarez put away the documents.

"Now palsy-walsy is being funny. What are you trying to slip me, palsy-walsy? What's this stuff about being naturalized? Why?"

"Because you are not like any real American I have ever met," said Alvarez. "And I have met many. You are the jabberwock fake American, whom we find as a rule only in films and cheap fiction. . . . May I see your passport, please?"

"Now suppose," said Collier, putting his head on one side, "I just couldn't be bothered to show you my passport?"

"Then, unfortunately," smiled Alvarez, "I will take it from you."

No doubt Alvarez imagined he was keeping a straight, pleasant face. But one thing perhaps he was not aware of and could not control: his expression of sheer contempt.

"Maybe I'm funny, in a way," drawled Collier, his head still on one side. "Yeah, that's it; maybe I'm funny. But I just kind of don't like the look on your pan, sec? I just don't

like being looked at as if I was dirt." Alvarez was puzzled.

"But what else are you?" he asked, in obviously genuine surprise. Dead silence.

Then the blood rushed into Collier's face, and all his languid airs flew apart. Fists clenched, lightly balanced, he fired a straight, hard left jab at Alvarez's face.

All the joy of heaven shone in the Commandant's eyes. Contemptuously slipping the punch, Alvarez countered with a murderous right across to the side of Collier's jaw. Instantly, his footwork too fast to see, Alvarez drove an even harder left hook —his deadliest weapon —to the other side of Collier's jaw. The two blows seemed to whack almost together, like chops on meat.

"Oh, well donel" Paula blurted out uncontrollably. "Beautifully done!"

From the policemen came a roar and stamping of delight.

Alvarez did not put hts opponent completely on the floor, of course. With an experienced fighter, such as Collier at least seemed to be, that is not easy.

But the Commandant almost did it. As the left hook whacked home, a Film as of vacancy slid over Collier's eyes. He reeled back four steps to the right, wildly tried to steady himself from falling left; then instinctively he fell on his right knee, right hand supporting himself against the concrete, head down.

Nobody moved or spoke, Alvarez, who might badly have damaged his gloved hands, had not done so; he merely waited, arms loose at his side. Colonel Duroc opened his mouth to speak, but, thinking differently, he remained silent.

Collier knelt, head down, until a referee might have counted to eight and just on the word of nine.

Then his heavy body bounced up, the film cleared from his eyes. Though his jaws had reddish marks which were beginning to swell and must have hurt like poisoned teeth, Collier showed no slur in his speech. The casual sneer was still on his face. Carelessly thrusting his hands in his pockets, as though he could not be troubled with more fighting, he sauntered forward. His pale eyes, under the drooping lids, conveyed the impression that it was he who had put down Alvarez for a count of nine.

"I get it," he said to Alvarez. "You box. Fancy Dan stuff. I don't; I fight. If we ever tangle for keeps," and his left upper lip curled up in disdain, "remember I just keep coming on, just keep coming on, till I land one punch. And what'll you be? Hamburger; that's what."

The policeman who understood English laughed with much derision, A fire iron went over with a crash on the hearth tiles.

Alvarez snapped his fingers, looking at Collier. "May I see your passport, please?" Momentarily Collier hesitated.

"Why not?" And he shrugged his shoulders. "They already took the number at the airport. It's no skin off mine if you wanna take the number again."

Drawing the green passport from his inside pocket, Collier threw it at Alvarez, who caught It neatly.

"What's so wrong about being naturalized?" Collier demanded.

"Nothing whatever, if you are a credit to your adopted country. . . . Ah, here we have it," said Alvarez. "'Place of birth: Moscow, Russia. Date of birth — '" Alvarez paused, thoughtfully tapping a gloved finger on the passport. "He was naturalized, I see, at the earliest date permitted by American Law. Even within that time, he could not have learned such fluent gutter language in the United States. His gutter manners also he could have found elsewhere." Alvarez's face showed faint disgust. "Moscow, Russia," he added, in deeper disgust.

"So what?" leered Collier. "So now I gotta prove I ain't a communist?"

"No. Your politics are none of my business or of anyone else."

"Good thing, sweetheart. I couldn't help you, see? You're too dumb to get the right answers for yourself."

"You think so?" murmured Alvarez, almost with sympathy and pity, "Poor simpleton."

Then Alvarez whipped round towards the Colonel, who was still standing silent in the background. The Commandant pointed to the wall above the fireplace.

"Colonel Duroc!" he continued in English. "No doubt you observed the small marks of nail holes, set in a pattern, of something to be hung here over the fireplace?"

The Colonel, grim-faced, merely nodded curtly.

"Good!" said Alvarez.

He strode over to the gutted sofa which was between the kitchenette and the bathroom door. From there he picked up the hammer which had not been brought by the police. It was not a claw hammer, but a machinist's hammer. While the policemen scattered to each side of the fireplace, Alvarez strode back and snatched up the garden sickle from beside the bookshelves.

With one instrument in each hand, he reared up and slammed both against the wall with such savagery that plaster chips flew. Yet, when he moved them a little, they fitted exactly into the tiny pattern of nail marks. The crossed hammer and sickle sprang out against the grimy wall.

Holding them there only long enough for everyone to see, Alvarez flung hammer and sickle into the fireplace.

"Sir," again he addressed Colonel Duroc, "there are several more plain indications of this 'Collier's' strange beliefs. For instance, if you will look at . . ."

"Commandant Alvarez!" interrupted the Colonel sharply.

"Sir?"

Colonel Duroc also spoke in English. But his voice had an odd sound —cold, hard, yet with a strangled quality. Though he fashioned each syllable with care, he seemed to have difficulty in speaking.

"All this," he said, "has no concern with our affair." He nodded towards Collier. "This . . . gentleman is the naturalized citizen of a friendly power—"

"Sir, the Americans will only laugh at him! Let them speak to him for one minute, and they will know him for the fake and undoubted crook he is."

"I did not refer to the Americans, Commandant."

"Surely, Colonel," asked the astonished Alvarez, "you cannot refer to our Soviet insects?"

"The Soviet Union," said Duroc in a fierce voice, "is a. . . friendly power, a signer of our international treaty, part of the government we serve. Never again, Commandant, will you use that insulting term, or any insulting term! Do you understand?"

Alvarez bowed slightly.

"I understand the ways of diplomatic usage, sir." "Enough of your childish sarcasm, Commandant." "I also understand," said Alvarez, "that in your heart you know, as I do, that this man Collier has attached himself to the high ideals and open-hearted methods of the . . . of the Soviet Union."

Paula Bentley glanced towards Maureen beside the kitchenette sink. The dark-blue eyes were as bewildered as the green eyes. Hitherto Collier in the Colonel's eyes had been "this camel," or similar French insults; now he was "this gentleman." Though both Paula and Maureen could understand the diplomatic beehive of a police commissioner in Tangier, they were bewildered by his suppressed rage, like rusty clockwork at the back of his throat.

"Furthermore," snapped Colonel Duroc, glancing at his wrist watch, "you promised to produce evidence, within fifteen minutes, of Mr. Collier's guilt in theft or attempted murder. You have not done so, and your time runs out. Well?"

"Ah, the evidence!" said Alvarez, snapping his fingers as though at some half-forgotten trifle. Whereupon he became very straight and formal. "With your permission, Colonel, I will now produce that evidence. . . . Mrs. Bentley!"

"Yes, Juan?" answered Paula, in her softest and sweetest voice.

Paula lounged there, rounded chin held up, in a careless position. Her close-fitting blue-silk frock brought to the eyes of the policemen a glisten of sympathy, if not some other and stronger feeling. But Paula saw very clearly the truth in her mind, and knew what she must do.

"Mrs. Bently," Alvarez began gently, facing her from in front of the fireplace, "I do not wish in any way to distress or upset you . .."

"Oh, you won't," laughed Paula. "Really you won't!"

"Thank you." Alvarez nodded towards Collier, who had swung round to face her. "Will you look at this man, please?"

This time Paula did gasp, but it was no stab of fear; it was merely repulsion as she saw the indomitable Collier, with his sneering face and his thumbs hooked in his belt.

"When you and I came into this flat, Mrs. Bentley, it seemed to me that you several times looked at him as though wondering where you had seen him before. Is that correct?"

"It is, Jua — Commandant," said Paula. Sensing the deadliness under this formality, Paula made her voice almost prim.

"Observe, in the presence of witnesses, that I do not attempt to suggest anything to you, or put words into your mouth. Did anything else happen later?"

"Oh, yes."

"What was it?"

"I definitely and clearly remembered where I had seen him before."

Alvarez, like a crafty prosecuting counsel before a formidable judge, carefully refrained from leading his witness. "Will you explain that, Mrs. Bentley?" "For the most part, it was a gesture." "Go on, please."

The room, in earthly silence except for their voices, had grown hot and stifling as the sun neared midday. Paula felt no dampness on her body; she was quite cool, except for a pulse throbbing somewhere.

"Miss Holmes and I," she went on, "were standing facing the kitchenette. You and Colonel Duroc had your backs to us, facing out into room, when that man"—she nodded towards Collier—"with a cigarette in his mouth. . . ."

"Yes, Mrs. Bently?"

"I turned round," said Paula, "while you were talking. I looked at that man. He took the end of the cigarette out of his mouth, and pointed the lighted end at Colonel Duroc with an awfully odd kind of gesture, like this." She extended her arm and wrist, turning them partly upwards in a snakelike motion. "That was when I remembered everything, even his face."

"Explain that, please!"

"It was the movement of his gun hand," said Paula, "when it came up over the iron chest and fired two shots at me last night. He was only four feet away. There was a street light not far from his face, and I can now remember his face distinctly. He had a hat on, concealing that red hair. And those filthy padded shoulders are deceptive; he was wearing a thin suit. But I know his face. Whether or not he's Iron Chest, he's the man who tried to rob Bernstein and Company last night."

Colonel Duroc opened his mouth, and shut it. Alvarez turned to the Colonel. The rest stood concealed, while one of the policemen softly rattled out a translation.

"Do we need more evidence that this identification, sir?" inquired Alvarez.

Then Collier's rasping tenor again soared high.

"Why, the lying little floosie!" he screamed. "I'll cut the tramp's throat out for this!"

Alvarez, turning back to him, whipped the glove off his left fingers with his right hand. With all the power of his arm he slashed the glove across Collier's left cheek; then, backhand, across Collier's right cheek. He was so fast that the glove was back on his left hand before anyone could follow it.

"Though you are only a fat coward," Alvarez said loudly, "will that make you fight?"

Collier, who was certainly not fat and possible not a coward, squared again to throw his left. Only in Alvarez's delighted eyes could you see he meant to go for the body, left and right, with a flurry of piston-rod belly punches.

But both men were stopped, rigid, by what was in sober fact a terrible voice.

"Commandant! Assez! Assez, je dis! Venez ici!"

Few now remembered how Colonel Duroc, less than a decade ago, could use that voice or his power of eye to subdue his savage Belgian guerillas.

Alvarez turned round and walked over to him. The little Colonel stood with feet planted wide, uniform tunic stuck out, hands gripped behind his back. Paula and Maureen, remembering the chuckling and amiable Duroc, who winked at them and chided them, were more bewildered than ever. Their instinct was correct. For Colonel Duroc, upon whom misfortune piled on misfortune (all somehow seeming to centre in Alvarez), was not quite in his right senses.

"Commandant," he said, "once more I speak English so that our men will not understand." He forgot one of the policemen. "Let me now give judgment on you. Your 'identification' evidence might, or in my opinion would not, be valuable in a court of justice . . ."

"Colonel, that's absurd!" cried Paula Bcntley.

The little Colonel gave her a glance, but spoke to Alvarez, "Let us consider your record, Alvarez, Last night you have commit the most serious offence known to the Department of Police. When supposedly on duty, when you might yourself have caught a dangerous criminal, étant noir . . . that is, you are black-drunk and incapable. Even last night I meditate on whether you shall be only demoted, or dismissed from a duty of which you are not capable."

"Sir, you must know I bitterly apologize for that! I offer no excuse. I only . . ."

“I do not want your apologies," said Colonel Duroc curtly. "What good are they? Keep them! But I come to today, offences quite as serious. Do not speak. I will speak.

"Well, I pass over small matters, as when you and—and Mr. Collier exchange blows. He is the aggressor; you are correct to strike back. But then what do you do? In the presence of witnesses, as I have tell you, you insult a friendly power of our Government. And lastly—"

The breath whistled through Duroc's nostrils. His fingernails, on hands gripped behind his back, dug blood from the flesh. Not a soul dared speak.

"Lastly, Commandant! Because you are annoyed, you have take off your glove and splash on this man's face, daring him to fight. Why? Because you think you can beat him to a jelly. Merde, alorsl You do not see, no? Now you give him the chance to say to all that the police of Tangier used the methods of what they call third degree. This is not true—leave such things to the Arab Mendoubia! — and well you know it. Very well! If you wish to remain in my service in any capacity, I now give you your order!"

Whereupon the Colonel completely lost his head. He pointed at Collier.

"You will publicly apologize to that man, now! And in full!"

Collier was almost triumphant. Up went his high, sneering laugh.

"Better listen to the Colonel, wise guy," he said. "He's the McCoy. And crawl, wise guy. That's what I wanna see. Crawl!"

Alvarez, shoulders back, looked straight down into the inflamed eyes of Colonel Duroc. "Are you serious, sir?"

"You will find, Commandant, how serious I am."

Alvarez, in the daze of a man who cannot believe his ears, slowly turned and, still vaguely insistent, pointed towards Collier.

"Apologize to that?" he asked, still wonderingly. "You will obey my order, Commandant!" Alvarez whirled back. "Excuse me one moment, sir," he said quickly.

Turning his back on the Colonel, Alvarez walked with ringing steps towards the corridor wall, near the point where Paula stood. Pushed back against the wail was the big mahogany table, now with only three legs put back and its cover placed on shakily like a lid.

But round it on the floor were still a few sheets of writing paper. Snatching up one, he tried to balance it on the unsteady tabletop. He drew out a fountain pen and wrote several lines quickly but unsteadily before Colonel Duroc's voice cut across the room.

"Alvarez! What the devil are you doing?"

Alvarez signed his name. He blew on the paper and shook it in the air to dry the ink. He marched back and handed the paper to Colonel Duroc.

"It is my resignation from the Department of Police, sir," he said, "to take effect at once. You find it in order, I hope?"

"Quite in order," answered the Colonel, taking the paper and running his eye down it. He folded it up and put it into his trouser pocket. "There might be formalities, but I waive them."

"Thank you, sir. And now . . ."

And now burst out the loudest clamour yet heard in that red-shuttered room. Already there had been a heavy buzzing, as of wasps streaming out, as one policeman explained the matter to the others. Paula, with a cry of protest, ran across and seized the Colonel's left arm. Maureen ran from the kitchenette and seized his right arm.

"Colonel," said Paula, "you're behaving like a foolish little boy." Her soft voice grew softer and more cajoling. "What's the matter, mon cher? If I kissed you now, you'd probably hit me. But what's happened to the nice, pleasant person I used to know?"

"Please, Colonel!" begged Maureen. She could not help it; tears came into her eyes. "I know it's none of my business. But I'll just bet you I can tell what it is. Because Sir Henry's still asleep, and you couldn't find the diamonds"— here Colonel Duroc winced, but kept a face like Napoleon going to St. Helena —"you were furious and took it out on poor Juan. What better detective do you want? He found a criminal, didn't he?"

Paula, inspired, turned to Maureen without letting go the Colonel's arm.

"Darling, that's exactly it! I can identify that man, It's true! Colonel Duroc must know any court will accept it. Instead of admitting it . . ."

Whereupon, the angry policemen crowded up and pinned a protesting Alvarez between themselves and Colonel Duroc.

They held the Commandant far more in awe than the Colonel. Though they knew Alvarez for a strict one, they admired his iron fairness; they liked the fact that he never bullied and he never bluffed. Now, as a real crown, they simple-heartedly but sensibly like him because he was a human being and had got drunk.

"It's a good thing, eh?" jeered the heavily muscled one, in French. "You lose your best man because he catches your criminal. Vive la logique"

"Allah will not bless you for this, lord of policemen! Look to it!"

"And because of the Russian filth who sells Bibles and yet is foul?" "Mother of heaven! I spit!"

"Silence!" shouted Colonel Duroc, in such a voice that the tumult subsided.

The little Colonel stood among them, hands still locked behind his back, showing a very real dignity.

"It is possible," his English began to slur, "that perhaps quite already in this affair I 'ave been too hasty." He shifted into French. "Pah, but that Alvarez! That villain! He deserves the bastinado, the water torture, the . . . Alvarez! Where the devil are you?"

"Standing immediately in front of you," retorted the villain in question, looking down at him.

"Well, Your orders-"

Alvarez smiled broadly.

"You forget, sir, that I am no longer under your damned orders. I am a civilian. Therefore I propose to that 'Mr. Collier'. . ."

Swinging round, shoving past the policeman, Alvarez took two steps and stopped short. He looked wildly round the room. So did everybody else, after a moment.

Collier was not there.

Only a ghost of Collier's unruffled sneer seemed to hang in the room, mocking them all.

Whether or not he was a civilian, Alvarez raced for the only door, and threw it open.Outside—a fine, lean, handsome figure of a man, though hesitant and not over-bright - stood Inspector Mendoza, patiently waiting.

"Inspector Mendoza!" Alvarez's throat was thick, but he tried to clear it. "You have not permitted anyone to leave here? A man, pretending to be an American, with a white-grey suit and an unspeakable bow tic?"

"Pr-pretending?" Mendoza answered his Spanish, "But, Commandant! The gentleman was American. And very pleasant. He showed me his passport, with photograph. He told me you would or could not detain him, since all Americans are answerable only to their own legation. And this is true, is it not?"

Alvarez stood motionless.

"No matter," he said at last. "I have been the stupid one, my friend."