The little man's eyes showed white and he nervously twisted a heavy ring on his finger. "You wouldn't dare, guv'nor. A bloke like you wouldn't dare!" "You'll do exactly as we say," Stan interrupted coldly. "And if we wanted you to, you'd do it for exactly nothing." He smiled grimly. "Your real name is William Clark. You're in this country without a visa or a passport. You jumped ship from a British freighter during the war. Your wife died shortly after you signed up for your last voyage and there was some talk about it. But you disappeared and they never found you again or heard from you and the case was dropped." He paused. "Do you want me to go on?" * * * * * The little man's eyes were wide and beads of sweat were dripping off the ends of his moustache. "Why now, you wouldn't turn in an old man, would you, guv'nor? I've been clean ever since I been over 'ere! I 'aven't done a thing!" Stan stared at him coldly. "Will you or won't you? You know the woman who runs the stand. It shouldn't be difficult." The little man pretended to think about it for a moment. "Why now, it doesn't seem like much," he mumbled. "Just a suitcase and you say all you want me to do is leave it with the woman?" He had him, Stan thought. "Be careful how you handle the suitcase and under no circumstances drop it--you'd be damned sorry if you did." The little man drained his glass of wine. "When do I get my quid?" "When we deliver the suitcase. Tomorrow." The little man shivered and stood up. "All right, I'll do it." He sidled past Tanner and stopped at the edge of the table. "Your eyes, guv'nor," he said suddenly, looking at Stan. "I swear to the Almighty, they're 'angman's eyes!" Hangman's eyes. Somewhere, someplace, Stan mused, he had thought that about somebody else. About Fred Tanner. But he couldn't remember where it had been, or when. Tanner fumbled in his wallet and gave the heavy man sitting next to him, a bill. "Reynolds, order up some more wine and see if they have any sandwiches, will you?" After Reynolds had left, he turned to Stan. "How many will this make?" Stan ticked them off on his fingers. "One in Chicago's Palmolive building, one in the Woolworth building on Manhattan Island, one in a dressing room of the Old Howard in Boston. Glasgow, Tokyo, Moscow, London, Rome and 41 others. And now Paris. They're all covered. Fifty ape cities--none of them long for this world." Tanner nodded thoughtfully. "Mr. Ainsworth will be very pleased. Very pleased indeed." Reynolds was back with a wine bottle in a small wicker basket and a plate of tired looking sandwiches. Stan drank the wine and ate the sandwiches without actually tasting them at all. The cities were dirty, filthy ghettoes of brick and stone and the people were only apes, he mused. But somehow.... * * * * *