At that moment Pashkov knocked on the door.
From within: "Shh! Alguien llama a la puerta."
Pashkov knocked again and a scuffle ensued within, the crack of a chair on a skull, the dragging of a beefy body into a closet, and the slam of the closet door.
"Yu?"
"Buenas tardes," Pashkov said through the door. "Asuntos muy importantes."
The door opened a crack and two dark eyes in a young bearded face peered out. "Eh?"
"Gospodin Pashkov, para servir a usted."
The door opened enough to admit the roly-poly visitor into the room. The other Cuban, also bearded and wearing a fatigue cap, held a revolver.
"No gun-play, caballeros," Pashkov went on in Spanish. "We are in the Salvation Army charity house, not in a two-peso thriller. Besides, I deliver before I ask payment."
"Deliver what, senor?"