n continued, unruffled, "it is hardly to my interest
to gain the reputation of betraying my sometimes employers. Were you on an
assignment in, say, Bulgaria or Hungary, would you expect me to betray you
to the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_?"

"Not unless somebody paid you enough to make it worth while," Larry said
dryly.

"Exactly," the espionage chief said.

"Look," Larry said. "Send your bill to this department, Hans. I've been
given carte blanche on this matter and I want to talk to Frol. Now, where
is he?"

The German chuckled heavily. "At the Soviet Embassy."

"What! You mean they've got the gall to house their top spy right in--"

Distelmayer interrupted him. "Friend Eivazov is currently accredited as a
military attache and quite correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, you
know. He entered this country quite legally, the only precaution taken was
to use his second name, Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers.
Evidently, your people passed him by without a second look. Ah, I
understand he went to the trouble of making some minor changes in his
facial appearance."

"We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer," Larry said. "Good-by."

He got up and reached for his hat, saying to Irene Day, "I don't know how
long I'll be gone." He added, wryly, "If either Foster or the Boss try to
get in touch with me, tell them I'm carrying out orders."

He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, parked his car directly before the
building.

-------------------------------------

The American plainclothesmen stationed near the entrance, gave him only a
quick onceover as he passed. Inside the gates, the impassive Russian
guards didn't bother to flicker an eyelid.

At the reception desk in the immense entrada, he identified himself. "I'd
like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov."

"I am afraid--" the clerk began stiffly.

"I suppose you have him on the records as Kliment Eivazov."

The clerk had evidently touched a concealed button. A door opened and a
junior embassy official approached them.

Larry restated his desire. The other began to open his mouth in denial,
then shrugged. "Just a moment," he said.

He was gone a full twenty minutes. When he returned, he said briefly,
"This way, please."

Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, in full uniform. He came to his feet
when Larry Woolford entered and said to the clerk, "That will be all,
Vova." He was a tall man, as Slavs go, but heavy of build and heavy of
face.

H