"'Is it a respectable place?'
"'That depends on what your Excellency requires,' and the porter shrugged his shoulders.
"'It sounds Russian.'
"'No, sir; it is Polish. You have music and vodka, and sometimes you have trouble.'
"'With whom?'
"Again the porter shrugged his shoulders. 'With the police.'
"'Are there rows?'
"'No, there are refugees. Vienna is full of them. For you it is nothing—you are an American—am I not right?'
"The Engineer touched his inside pocket, felt the bulge of his pocketbook containing his passport, turned down the Ring Strasse, and stopped at the Opera House. Then he began to look about him. Young, well-built, clear-headed, and imaginative, this sort of an adventure was just what he wanted. Soon his eyes fell upon a café ablaze with light. On a ground-glass globe over the door was the word 'Ivanoff.'
"He passed through the front room, turned into another, and was stopped by a man at the door of the third.