To an outsider the spectacle of the three men in their talk would have been very odd indeed. Two men who served The Master, and one who had been his only annoying opponent, talking of the service of The Master quite amicably and without marked disagreement.
Ortiz stirred and drummed nervously on the desk. The round shouldered figure put the tips of its fingers together.
"How did you know," demanded Ortiz suddenly, "that I serve because I despair?"
Bell watched keenly. He began to see where the talk was trending, and waited alertly for the moment for him to speak. This was a battlefield, this too luxurious room in which young Ortiz seemed an alien. Rhetoric was the weapon which now would serve the best.
"Let us talk frankly," said the placid German voice. "You andt I, Señor Ortiz, haff worked together. You are not a defil like most of the deputies, and I do not regret hafing been sent here to help you. And I am not a scoundtrel like most of those who help the deputies, so you haff liked me a little. Let us talk frankly. I was trapped. I am a capable segretary. I speak seferal languages. I haff no particular ambitions or any loyalties. I am useful. So I was trapped. But you, Señor Ortiz, you are different."
Ortiz suddenly smiled bitterly.
"It is a saying in Brazil, if I recall the words, 'A cauda do demonio e de rendas.' 'The devil's tail is made of lace.' That is the story."
Bell said quietly:
"No."