It was nearly midnight when Hall crossed the threshold of the brooding stone building that was Secret Police Headquarters. Like all police headquarters the world over, this one also smelled faintly of carbolic and damp stone, a stench Hall had grown to detest in San Sebastian. He walked briskly down the dark corridor which led to Lobo's office.
A young lieutenant was sitting at the desk in the anteroom. "Mr. Johnny Green Moon?" he asked, grinning.
"Hello," Hall laughed. "You still here?"
"Just a second." The lieutenant pressed a button on his desk. There was a click in the electric door stop of the massive oak and iron door behind the desk. "Go right in, Mr. Green Moon."
Hall pushed the door open, stepped into the Spartan simplicity of Lobo's private office, and quickly shut out the smell of carbolic by slamming the door behind him. Lobo, who had equally good reasons for hating that odor, had installed an American air-cleaning system in his own office.
The young general—he was about three years younger than Hall—was sitting at his tremendous carved desk and studying some papers. "Johnny!" he shouted. "Qué tal?" He was wearing a very formal white dress uniform heavy with medals and gold braid.
"Hello, Jaime," Hall said. "You look like an American Christmas tree."
"Johnny, you dog! You took me away from a most beautiful reception."
"Beautiful?"
"A dream. Unbelievable! Four and twenty blonde Vassar girls dancing around Lobo and wondering out loud if the handsome spik speaks English. Sensational!"