Hotel des Alpes Maritimes. There are no numbers on
the doors, but it will be impossible for you to mistake his room. All
day and night he sits playing an accordion."

Flavio Minetti took a cigarette from his pocket. "Remember, my young
friend, I gave you fair warning."

"I shall not forget," replied Suvaroff.

* * *

Suvaroff climbed back to his room. He sat upon his bed holding his head
in his hands. The sound of the accordion seemed gruesome now.

Presently he heard a step on the landing. His heart stood still. Sounds
drifted down the passageway. The noise was not heavy and clattering, but
it had a pattering quality, like a bird upon a roof. Above the wailing
of the music, Suvaroff heard a door opened--slowly, cautiously. There
followed a moment of silence; Suvaroff was frightened. But almost
immediately the playing began again.

"Now," thought Suvaroff, "why is the Italian not frightened? The door
has been opened and he goes on playing, undisturbed.... It must be that
he is sitting with his back to the door. If this is so, God help him!...
Well, why need I worry? What is it to me? It is not my fault if a fool
like that sits with his door unlocked and his face turned from the face
of danger."

And, curiously, Suvaroff's thoughts wandered to other things, and a
picture of his native country flashed over him--Little Russia in the
languid embrace of summer--green and blue and golden. The soft notes of
the balalaika at twilight came to him, and the dim shapes of dancing
peasants, whirling like aspen-leaves in a fresh breeze. He remembered
the noonday laughter of skylarks; the pear-trees bending patiently
beneath their harvest; the placid river winding its willow-hedged way,
cutting the plain like a thin silver knife.

Now, suddenly, it came upon him that the music in the next room had
stopped. He waited. There was not a sound!... After a time the door
banged sharply. The pattering began again, and died away. But still
there was no music!...

Suvaroff rose and began to strip off his clothes. His teeth were
chattering. "Well, at last," he muttered, "I shall have some peace!" He
threw himself on the bed, drawing the coverings up over his head....
Presently a thud shook the house. "He has slipped from his seat," said
Suvaroff aloud. "It is all over!" And he drew the bedclothes higher and
went to sleep.

* * *

Next morning, Suvaroff felt better. To be sure, he was weak, but he rose
and dressed.

"What strange