A rendezvous--a pretty woman--potent wine--and in the middle of the supper--retribution. It was a pretty scheme and there were no loopholes. Even if Gonnard should fail to fall into the baited trap he was prepared with an alternative--but the White Knight was confident of his man. At seven o'clock Arnold would arrive. Wenzel glanced at his watch; just four-fifteen, and therefore time to set his plans in motion. He lounged out of the room he had confiscated together with several Reds in the name of the Commune. Downstairs one of his fellow-proletarians was just entering. "What, going out? You are a queer fellow, comrade--different from the rest of us. We sleep all day, and at night..." He grinned. "Well, I could take you to several little haunts, my friend. Why don't you join us? I know a pretty blonde; her lips are redder than a ripened cherry, and warmer than the hot springs of Margaret Island. She would bring life into those dull eyes of yours, and set your blood racing." "Women!" Wenzel shrugged his shoulders. "What do I want of women? I have had a surfeit of them until I am tired of their monotonous caresses." The other looked at him enviously. "You are a lucky fellow. A case of beauty and the beast, eh?" Wenzel turned upon him, and the Communist saw that in his eyes which made him feel afraid. "All right, comrade," he added hastily; "I was only joking, of course." Wenzel growled, "Keep your jests to yourself, friend, for sometimes they are like curses and chickens--and come home to roost," then turning away he lounged out. For some time he walked heedlessly. "Beauty and the beast!" So hideous was he that even his own sex were conscious of the fact! For the first me he wondered what Arnold thought of him. Did he too see his leader in the same light? Remorselessly he forced the trend of his thoughts into other directions. He knew from past experience the after-effect of too much communing with himself on that subject, for the bitterness of his thoughts ate into his soul, and the world became a black place--too black, for was there not supposed to be a better one elsewhere? He saw a train steaming into the station from Budapest, and, more to keep his thoughts occupied than for any other reason, he joined the throng of idle sightseers who lounged near the entrance watching the exit of the passengers. The people streamed through; some hesitatingly, pausing outside to look around and find their different ways; others, with a contempt bred of familiarity, dispersed quickly and decisively along the adjacent streets. Suddenly Wenzel stiffened, and frowned slightly. Arnold was supposed to arrive by a later train, yet he was even now jostling his way through a party who clustered round a newsboy. Not seeing Wenzel, Arnold would have passed on, but the White Knight stepped forward. "Hullo, comrade!" he cried loudly. "So you are back again? How go things in Budapest?"