"Yes," agreed Baggin, with a wry smile. "And he has us at his fingers' ends also--where are our friends?--the other matter I have arranged without calling in Poltavo."
"They are returning to-night." The fat man shifted uncomfortably. "You were saying about this T. B. fellow--he is dead?"
"Not dead, but nearly; Poltavo saw him carried into the house, and a little later an ambulance came flying to the door. He saw him carried out. Later he enquired at the hospital--sent in his card, if you please--and found that Smith was shot through the shoulder."
"Is Poltavo----" He did not complete his sentence.
"He's dangerous. I tell you, Grayson, we are on tender ice; there's a crackling and a creaking in the air."
"I've been having dreams lately," he rumbled. "Horrid dreams about prisons----"
"Oh, cut it out!" said Baggin. "There's no time for fool dreaming. I'm going to the committee to-night; you back me up. Hullo!"
A beggar had sidled into the café in the waiter's absence. He moved with the furtive shuffle of the practised mendicant.
His hair was close-cropped, and on his cheeks was a three days' growth of beard.
Baggin raised his hand, but checked its descent. He had seen something behind the ragged jacket closely buttoned at the throat.
"Wait for me on the road to Jerez," he commanded, and tossed the man a silver piece. The beggar caught it with the skill of an expert.
Baggin cut short the torrent of thanks, blessings, and protestations.
"Meet me in half-an-hour; you understand?"
"What the devil are you going to do?" demanded Grayson.
Half-an-hour later they emerged from the café, Baggin to his horse, and the fat man to a capacious victoria that he had summoned from the hotel stables.
A mile along the road they came up with the beggar.
"Get down, Grayson, and send the victoria on; you can signal it when you want it."
He waited until the empty victoria had driven away; then he turned to the waiting ragamuffin.
"Carlos Cabindez," said the man hesitatingly.
Baggin's hand suddenly shot out; and, grasping his collar, tore open the frayed jacket.
The man wrenched himself free with an imprecation.
"Take your hand from that knife," commanded Baggin. "I will do you no harm. Where did you get that shirt?"