The place where I had been told to stay had been a tavern for centuries. Once it was called the _Cabaret of the Assassins_, then the _Cabaret of the Traitor_, then _My Country Place_ and now, after fifty years, it was _The Sprightly Rabbit_. André Gill had painted the sign of the tavern, a rabbit which hung in the street above the entrance. After I had taken my room—being careful to haggle long about the price, and finally securing a reduction of fifty centimes—for one does well to appear poor at _Le Lapin Agile_—I came down into the cabaret. It was crowded and the air was thick and warm with tobacco smoke. Disreputable couples were sitting around little wooden tables, drinking wretched wine from unlabeled bottles; an occasional shout arose for “tomatoes,” a specialty of Frederic, the proprietor, which was, in reality, a vile brew of absinthe and raspberry syrup. There was much shouting and once or twice one of the company burst into song. “Tomatoes,” I told the waiter who came for my order. As he went I slipped a franc into his hand. “I want to see _The Salmon_. Is he in?” He nodded. A moment later a man stood before me. I saw a short, rather thick-set fellow, awkward but wiry, whose face bore somewhere the mark of a forgotten Irish ancestor. He was red-haired. I did not need his words to tell me who he was. “I am _The Salmon_,” he said. “What do you want?” I studied him carefully before replying, appraising him as if he were a horse I contemplated buying. It was not tactful or altogether safe, as _The Salmon’s_ expression plainly showed; but I wished to be sure of my man. After a moment: “Sit down, my friend,” I told him. “I have a business proposition to make. M. Morel sent me to you.” He smiled at the name. The fictitious M. Morel had put him in the way of several excellent “business propositions.” “It is a pleasure,” responded _The Salmon_. “What does Monsieur wish?” I told him.... In order to make you understand the business I was on, it is necessary that I pause here, abandoning _The Salmon_ for the moment, and recall to your memory a few facts about the political situation as it existed in this month of February, 1911. Europe at the time was alull—to outward seeming. As everybody knows now the forces that later brought about the War were then merrily at work, as indeed they had been for many years. But outwardly, save for the ever impending certainty of trouble in the Balkans, the world of Europe was at peace. But in America a storm was brewing. Mexico, which for so many years had been held at peace under the iron dictatorship of Diaz, was beginning to develop symptoms of organized discontent. Madero had taken to the field, and although no one at the time believed in the ultimate success of the rebellion, it was evident that many changes might take place in the country, which would seriously affect the interests of thousands of European investors in Mexican enterprises. Consequently Europe was interested.