s' antics commanded the general approval of
Morris Siegelman's patrons, and loud cries of "Brava!" "Encore!" "Bis!"
"Herrlich!" rewarded Curtis's lyrical effort. Some thirty people or
more were scattered about the room, mostly in small parties seated
around marble-topped tables. Beer was the favorite beverage; a
minority was eating, the menu being strange and wondrous, and everyone
was smoking cigarettes. When Curtis received his share of the
poisonous decoction so vaunted by Steingall, he faced the company,
glass in hand, and saw Count Vassilan seated in a corner close to a
window. With him were a good-looking Italian girl and a youth, and the
three were deep in eager converse, giving no heed to the other
revelers, but rather taking advantage of the prevalent clatter of talk
and drinking utensils to discuss whatever topic it was which proved so
interesting.

Steingall's eyes carried a question, and Curtis shook his head.
Vassilan's male companion bore only the slight resemblance of a kindred
nationality to the men who committed the murder, while he differed
essentially from the treacherous "Anatole."

"I wish your best girl could see you now, John D.," whispered Devar,
who had just recovered from a violent fit of coughing induced by the
raw whisky which Siegelman dispensed under the seal of vodka. Curtis
laughed at the conceit, which was grotesque in its very essence. Wild
and bizarre as his experiences had been that night, none was more
whimsical than this bawling of a ballad in an East Broadway saloon
while posing as a sailor with three sheets in the wind.

"Mostly Hungarians here," muttered Steingall. "We seem to be in the
right place, anyhow."

"Let's eat," said Clancy suddenly.

Reflected in a cracked mirror he had seen a man and two women rise and
leave a table in the corner occupied by the Count. He skipped off the
stool, and made for the vacant place; the others followed, and Curtis
had several glasses raised to his honor as he passed through the
merry-makers.

Clancy noisily summoned a waitress, and ordered four plates of
spaghetti with tomatoes. He sat with his back to the absorbed party
beneath the window, and apologized with exaggerated politeness when his
chair touched that of the Italian girl, though his accent, needless to
say, was redolent of the East side.

"They do not come, then?" he heard Vassilan say impatiently.

"P'raps notta to-night," said the girl, "but you sure meet-a dem h