“My God!” whispered Stull. “Quint will kill you.”
Brandes laughed unpleasantly:
“Not me, Ben. I’ve got that geezer where I want him on a dirty deal he pulled off with the police.” 279
Curfoot turned his pointed muzzle toward the window and sneered at the sunny landscape.
A few minutes later, far across the rolling plain set with villas and farms, and green with hedgerows, gardens, bouquets of trees and cultivated fields, he caught sight of a fairy structure outlined against the sky. Turning to Brandes:
“There’s the Eiffel Tower,” remarked Curfoot. “Where are we stopping, Eddie?”
“Caffy des Bulgars.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s where we go to work—Roo Vilna.”
Stull’s smile was ghastly, but Curfoot winked at Brandes.