flat half an hour before.

"Now, Julius," said Kore humorously, "come, my lad, and we will seek out
together the good situation I have found for you."

A horse-cab was at the door and we entered it together. The Jew chatted
pleasantly as we rattled through the darkness. He complimented me on my
ready wit in deciphering Francis' message.

"How do you like my idea?" he said, "'Achilles in his Tent'... that is
the device of the hidden part of my business--you observe the parallel,
do you not?' Achilles holding himself aloof from the army and young men
like yourself who prefer the gentle pursuits of peace to the sterner
profession of war! Clients of mine who have enjoyed a classical
education have thought very highly of the humour of my device."

The cab dropped us at the corner of the Friedrich-Strasse, which was
ablaze with light from end to end, and the Linien-Strasse, a narrow,
squalid thoroughfare of dirty houses and mean shops. The street was all
but deserted at that hour save for an occasional policeman, but from
cellars with steps leading down from the streets came the jingle of
automatic pianos and bursts of merriment to show that the Linien-Strasse
was by no means asleep.

Before one of these cellar entrances the Jew stopped. At the foot of the
steep staircase leading down from the street was a glazed door, its
panels all glistening with moisture from the heated atmosphere within.
Kore led the way down, I following.

A nauseous wave of hot air, mingled with rank tobacco smoke, smote us
full as we opened the door. At first I could see nothing except a very
fat man, against a dense curtain of smoke, sitting at a table before an
enormous glass goblet of beer. Then, as the haze drifted before the
draught, I distinguished the outline of a long, low-ceilinged room,
with small tables set along either side and a little bar, presided over
by a tawdry female with chemically tinted hair, at the end. Most of the
tables were occupied, and there was almost as much noise as smoke in the
place.

A woman's voice screamed: "Shut the door, can't you, I'm freezing!" I
obeyed and, following Kore to a table, sat down. A man in his
shirt-sleeves, who was pulling beer at the bar, left his beer-engine
and, coming across the room to Kore, greeted him cordially, and asked
him what we would take.

Kore nudged me with his elbow.

"We'll take a Boonekamp each, Haase," he said.

CHAPTER XIV

CLUBFOOT COMES TO HAASE'S

Ko