, Mascola smiled. It hadn't been such a bad day
at that. He'd showed somebody something about albacore fishing. And he'd
show them a lot more before he got through. Things were coming his way
too from other sources. He took out his leather wallet and ran over a
number of bills of high denomination. Then he took another drink and
smiled at the ceiling. It had been such easy money. Much easier than
fishing.

A knock sounded at the street-door. Mascola shoved the wallet again into
his pocket and hastily removed his bottle of Amontillado.

"Come in," he called.

Boris entered, clumsily filling the doorway with his great bulk and
bringing with him a strong odor of garlic and Jap _sake_. For a moment
he stood on the threshold, blinking stupidly. Then he pulled the door
closed with a bang.

Mascola's eyes grew hard as he dropped his hand into a drawer of his
desk which stood open.

"Stay where you are," he commanded. "What do you want?"

"Job," muttered the Russian thickly.

Mascola shook his head and an annoyed frown darkened his brow. "Go
home," he said. "You're drunk. You're no good. I fired you. Don't want
to talk."

Boris made no move to comply with his order. His small eyes roved
restlessly about the room for a moment, then came to rest on the
Italian.

"Boys making fool with me all time," he said. "Say I can no lick woman.
I get damn mad. You give me job. I show you."

Mascola shook his head. Leaning closer to the swaying figure, he said in
a low voice: "Show me first."

Boris's face became purple with rage as the import of Mascola's answer
filtered into his thick skull. He clenched his huge hands and raised
them above his head, mumbling all the while in his own tongue. Then his
arms fell to his sides and his pig-like eyes gleamed with belated
comprehension. Licking his dry lips, he said: "Give me drink. I show you
to-night."

The Italian slipped a hand into his pocket and tossed him a two-dollar
bill. Stumbling to the door the Russian found Mascola close by his side.

"Wait," he commanded. "Sit down. There."

He pointed to a chair screened from the street entrance by a large steel
safe. When Boris had deposited his great bulk therein, Mascola walked to
the door and looked up and down the street. Then he returned and grasped
the Russian by the arm.

"Go," he said. As Boris reached the door he shoved him out with the
whisper:

"Don't forget. You've got to show me."

Joe Blagg was among the last of