The detective shrugged his shoulders: "Don't ask me, friend; I do not know. All I say is that he will in the long run. Besides, didn't you yourself say you thought he had a spy among them? Take my advice. Do as I am doing. Pack and fly for it, my friend!" and with the sound of Gunzi's mocking laughter in his ears Szamuelly stumbled from the room. By the time he reached the street his face was chalky, his lips trembled nervously. Gunzi's words haunted him; somehow they had rung so prophetically in his ears. He felt his nerve cracking. His only hope, the one man he felt could have tracked the White Knight, was fleeing, not only from the city, but from the country altogether. Now there was no one to guard him against the machinations of the White Knight! His Terror Boys ... in their brutal way they were brave enough, possibly thoroughly loyal, but Szamuelly had no faith in them; all their bravery was of no use compared with the White Knight's cunning, all their loyalty was likely to evaporate at the sight of the White Knight's well-filled purse. Two Terror Boys walked by his side. "What's the matter, comrade?" asked one. "You do not look yourself." Szamuelly shrugged his shoulders helplessly: "I am not, my friend. To-day I have received bad news--news which affects you--I--all of us." "Bad news which affects us all! What can that be? The only bad news you could give us would be that neither wine nor women remained in the world." Szamuelly laughed shortly: "Yet, my friend, what I have to say is worse than that. The Commune is finished, the days of commissaries ended." The Terror Boys looked at him as if they wondered what madness had come over their leader. "You are not well," growled the second guard, who had not yet spoken. Szamuelly turned upon him in a temper: "Fools, fools! So you think I am mad! Blockheads, can't you see the truth when it is thrust before you? Let me put it to you in a way you will understand. To-night I leave Budapest for Russia, or Austria, or Italy--anywhere, so long as I escape." The two Terror Boys stopped in their walk and gazed at Szamuelly with strained expressions. He had spoken in words which they understood. If he were fleeing, he, after Bela Kun the leading light of the Red Terror, then indeed the good days must be finished. They knew their Szamuelly, and no longer did they doubt the truth. It was no trick to get rid of them. Yet a certain suspicion suggested itself to one of them. "It is not the White Knight?" he queried. Szamuelly shivered at the mention of the name, yet he would have hotly denied the imputation had he not realized the fruitlessness of so doing. Besides, a plan was formulating in his brain.