“Read them,” nodded Rue Carew.
He read them both aloud to her: the first amused them a little—not without troubling them a little, too:
Monsieur Neeland:
It is the Tzigane, Fifi, who permits herself the honour of addressing you.
Breslau escaped. With him went the plans, it seems. You behaved admirably in the Café des Bulgars. A Russian comrade has you and Prince Erlik to remember in her prayers.
You have done well, monsieur. Now, your task is ended. Go back to the Western World and leave us to end this battle between ourselves.
It is written and confirmed by the stars that what the Eastern World has sown it shall now reap all alone.
We Tziganes know. You should not mock at our knowledge. For there is a dark star, Erlik, named from the Prince of Hell. And last night it was in conjunction with the red star, Mars. None saw it; none has ever beheld the dark star, Erlik.
But we Tziganes know. We have known for five thousand years that Erlik hung aloft, followed by ten black moons. Ask your astronomers. But we Tziganes knew this before there ever were astronomers!
Therefore, go home to your own land, monsieur. The Prince of Hell is in the heavens. The Yellow Devil shall see the Golden Horn again. Empires shall totter and fall. Little American, stand from under. 419