A small neat man with a yellow face stood on the threshold. He was holding a small, neat, efficient-looking automatic. Fallon backed into the room, hearing the click of the cradle as the phone went down.
"You are Einar Bjarnsson?" The question was toneless and purely rhetorical. The black eyes had seen the whole room in one swift flick. "I am Kashimo," said the man, and waited.
"Fallon," Webb said easily. "This is Miss Daniels. We just dropped in for a chat. Mind if we go now?"
"I am afraid ..." said Kashimo, and spread his hands. "I have been discourteous enough to eavesdrop. You have an inventive mind, Mr. Fallon. An inaccurate mind, but one that might prove disturbing to our plans."
"Don't worry," grunted Fallon. "I have no business whatsoever, and I attend to it closely. Your plans don't matter to me at all."
"Indeed." Kashimo studied him with black, bright eyes. "You are either a liar or a disgrace to your country, Mr. Fallon. But I may not take chances. You and the young lady I must, sadly, cancel out."
"And I?" Bjarnsson asked.
"You come with us," said Kashimo. Fallon saw four other small neat men outside, close behind their leader in the doorway.
He said, "What do you mean, 'cancel out'?" He knew, before Kashimo moved his automatic.
Kashimo said, "Mr. Bjarnsson, please to move out of the line of fire."