It was nothing to him that, the precious manuscripts saved, gentle-hearted Imre was bathing the Communist's head. He only saw the man who had stunned him. He rose quickly to his feet, leaving Imre on his knees. Now was his chance. He swung his foot forward. His heavy-soled boot crashed into the old man's face, and Imre, racked with pain, gently slid backward to the floor with a groan. _CHAPTER V_ Budapest, and Comrade Grocz pleading to Bela Kun for satisfaction. Bela Kun was sympathetic. "Of course, comrade. An insult to you is an insult to the Soviet. Go back to Castle Gisella and hang the old man. Do just as you like, but do not let him escape." His eyes flashed. "Remember, Grocz, I shall hold you responsible. The _bourgeoisie_ must be exterminated." Grocz smiled savagely. "Thank you, comrade. Do not fear. I know of a very good method of hanging. It does it gradually. But, comrade, there is another matter. There is a daughter." "Ha! A daughter. Is she young?" "Deliciously so." "And pretty?" "None more so." Bela Kun grinned all over his misshapen face. "Comrade Grocz, if I were you----" Grocz nodded his head. "And afterwards?" Bela Kun frowned. "Let her join her pig of a father in Hell." Grocz was confident. "Leave that to me, comrade." The train back was not due to leave for another hour, so Grocz sat at the station buffet, surrounded by friends, whiling away the time. It was good that his old chum Brody came along. There was a tale to tell, so he told it, and in its recital it lost nothing of the drama. As the cluster around him grew larger so his voice boomed louder. It was pleasing to be thus a centre of interest. All the same he kept his eye on the clock. There was work to be done. He wanted to see the old man at the end of a rope, his legs kicking--better still there was Elizabeth.... At last the train puffed out, crowded to double its capacity, as were all trains in those days, but Grocz saw to it that he had plenty of room. There was one window seat occupied by an old woman. He thrust her out of it, and then took her place, stretching his long legs across to the opposite side. Having settled himself comfortably he pulled from his pocket a large cigar which had once belonged to Imre Kiss, and read _The People's Voice_. Little did he know that in the same train travelled Nemesis, that among the group of Reds to whom he had boasted of what was to happen later that night were Arnold Terhune and his mysterious leader, the White Knight. They did not speak to one another, the two Englishmen; each had thoughts of his own. But then it was not safe to talk of anything but trivialities: for instance, the man in the opposite corner, with his hawk nose, his cunning eyes, and close-cropped head might have been a detective.