Bell was smiling. Being in an entirely abnormal state, he had a curious certitude of the proper course to adopt. He went up to a policeman and said politely, in Spanish: "I am desired to report to The Master, himself. Will you direct me?" The policeman abased himself instantly and trotted with them as a guide. And Bell walked naturally, now, with his head up and his shoulders back, and smoked leisurely as he went, and the policeman's abasement became abject. All who walked with that air of amused superiority in Punta Arenas were high in the service of The Master. Obviously, the two men in these dejected clothes must also be high in the service of The Master, and had adopted their disguise for purposes into which a mere policeman and a slave of The Master should not dare enquire. Jamison was rather grim and still. Jamison thought he was walking to his death. But Bell smiled peculiarly and talked almost gaily and--as Jamison thought--almost irrationally. * * * * * They came to a house set in a fairly spacious lawn behind a rather high wall. There were greenhouses behind it, and there were flowers growing as well as any flowers can be expected to grow in such high altitudes. It was an extraordinarily cheerful dwelling to be found in Punta Arenas, but the shuddering fear with which the little policeman removed his hat as he entered the gateway was instructive. They were confronted by four other policemen, on guard inside the gate. "_Estos Señores_--" began the abject one. "Take us to The Master," commanded Bell in a species of amused and superior scorn. "It is required, Senor," said the leader of the four on guard, very respectfully, "it is required that none enter without being searched for weapons." Bell laughed. "Does The Master manage things so?" he asked scornfully. "Now, where I am deputy no man would dare to think of a weapon to be used against me! If it is The Master's rule, though...." The policeman cringed. Bell scornfully thrust an automatic out. "Take it," he snapped. "And go and tell The Master that the Senores Bell and Jamison await his pleasure, and that they have given up their weapons." The policeman scuttled toward the house. Bell smiled at his cigarette. "Do you know, Bell," said Jamison dryly, in English, "I'd hate to play poker with you." "I'm not bluffing," said Bell. "Not altogether. I've a four card flush, with the draw to come." * * * * *