k him that the people for whose correction
he was buying all these rifles and machine-guns were individuals with a
lively distaste for having their blood shed.

"Senor Bleke," resumed the speaker, frowning at one of his companions
whose hand was hovering above the bottle of liqueur brandy, "you are a
man of sense. You know what is safe and what is not safe. Believe me,
this scheme of yours is not safe. You have been led away, but there
is still time to withdraw. Do so, and all is well. Do not so, and your
blood be upon your own head."

"My blood!" gasped Roland.

The speaker bowed.

"That is all," he said. "We merely came to give the warning. Ah, Senor
Bleke, do not be rash. You think that here, in this great London of
yours, you are safe. You look at the policeman upon the corner of the
road, and you say to yourself 'I am safe.' Believe me, not at all so is
it, but much the opposite. We have ways by which it is of no account the
policeman on the corner of the road. That is all, Senor Bleke. We wish
you a good night."

The deputation withdrew.

Maraquita, informed of the incident, snapped her fingers, and said
"Poof!" It sometimes struck Roland that she would be more real help in a
difficult situation if she could get out of the habit of saying "Poof!"

"It is nothing," she said.

"No?" said Roland.

"We easily out-trick them, isn't it? You make a will leaving your money
to the Cause, and then where are they, _hein_?"

It was one way of looking at it, but it brought little balm to Roland.
He said so. Maraquita scanned his face keenly.

"You are not weakening, Roland?" she said. "You would not betray us
now?"

"Well, of course, I don't know about betraying, you know, but still----.
What I mean is----"

Maraquita's eyes seemed to shoot forth two flames.

"Take care," she cried. "With me it is nothing, for I know that your
heart is with Paranoya. But, if the others once had cause to suspect
that your resolve was failing--ah! If Bombito----"

Roland took her point. He had forgotten Bombito for the moment.

"For goodness' sake," he said hastily, "don't go saying anything to
Bombito to give him the idea that I'm trying to back out. Of course you
can rely on me, and all that. That's all right."

Maraquita's gaze softened. She raised her glass--they were lunching at
the time--and put it to her lips.

"To the Savior of Paranoya!" she said.

"Beware!" whispered a voice in Roland's ear.

He turned with a