"He's dangerous. I tell you, Grayson, we are on tender ice; there's a crackling and a creaking in the air."
Grayson licked his dry lips.
"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.
He held out a grimy hand.
"Señor," he murmured. "Por Dios——"
"Get out."
The man looked at him appealingly.