Then his common sense intervened. His one hope was through Craig. Again he
took up his vigil in front of the window. Once more his eyes swept the
narrow street with its constant stream of passers-by. Each time a man
stopped and entered the building, he leaned a little further forward, and
at each disappointment he seemed to realise a little more completely the
slenderness of the chance upon which he was staking so much. Then suddenly
he found himself gripping the window-sill in a momentary thrill of rare
excitement. His vigil was rewarded at last. The man for whom he was
waiting was there! Quest watched him cross the street, glance furtively to
the right and to the left, then enter the club. He turned back to the
little wireless and his fingers worked as though inspired.

"I am on Craig's track," he signalled. "Be brave."

He waited for no reply, but opened the door and stealing softly out of the
room, leaned over the banisters. His apartment was on the fourth story.
The floor below was almost entirely occupied by the kitchen and other
offices. The men's club room was on the second floor. From where he stood
he heard the steward of the club greeting Craig. He was a big man with a
hearty voice, and the sound of his words reached Quest distinctly.

"Say, Mr. Craig, you're an authority on South America, aren't you? I
bought some beans in the market this morning which they told me were grown
down there, and my chef don't seem to know what to make of 'em. I wonder
whether you would mind stepping up and giving him your advice?"

Craig's much lower voice was inaudible but it was evident that he had
consented, for the two men ascended to the third floor together. Quest
watched them enter the kitchen. A moment or two later the steward was
summoned by a messenger and descended alone. Quest ran quickly down the
stairs and planted himself behind the kitchen door. He had hardly taken up
his position before the handle was turned. He heard Craig's last words,
spoken as he looked over his shoulder.

"You want to just soak them for two hours longer than any other beans in
the world. That's all there is about it."

Craig appeared and the door swung back behind him. Before he could utter a
cry, Quest's left hand was over his mouth and the cold muzzle of an
automatic pistol was pressed to his ribs.

"Turn round and mount those stairs, Craig," Quest ordered.

The man shrunk away, trembling. The pistol pressed a little further into