Gunzi laughed. "The Devil himself, it would seem. The first we heard of him here in Aszod was about a week ago. One morning we found, pasted over the official posters of the Soviet Government, slips of paper bearing the words: 'Proletarians, beware. Nemesis is on your track. The White Knight. An Enemy of the Commune.'" "Nemesis! Who is he? That's not a Hungarian name," said Gonnard. "I knew not, till I asked the schoolmaster, who roared with laughter when I asked him." The detective's eyes narrowed. "He is a _bourgeois_, that schoolmaster. Him I will soon put into prison." "But Nemesis?" prompted Gonnard. "Oh, yes, Nemesis. He told me Nemesis was a daughter of Nyx, a person who metes out punishment to the unjust. Bah! They think to get the better of good proletarians with their long words and foreign names. Wait until I get my hands upon this woman, Nemesis, or the White Knight either." "What about Fejer and Pauler?" Gunzi pursed his lips. "Ask me not, Gonnard. All I know is that they were both found dead, and each had in one of his pockets--a white knight!" His sibilant voice lowered itself toward the finish of the sentence, and Gonnard shivered. "It is you who will hang, not I." Again in his ears rang the confident challenge hurled at him across the heads of the populace. Supposing he failed in his boast, and, worse, supposing the Enemy of the Commune were successful! ... Involuntarily his hand flew to his throat and he loosened his shirt collar. It was rather too tight to be pleasant. Gunzi's mouth slowly widened into a grin. There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" cried Gonnard, and there entered a small boy of about eleven years of age, dressed in clothes far too large for him, which, judging from the cut and the material, had been filched from one of the _bourgeois_ residences. "A letter for you, comrade," announced the newcomer, his remark punctuated by an oath. The gamins of Hungary spent a royal time during the Commune. Released by order of the Soviet from all authority whatsoever, of their parents or of their school-teachers, they revelled in their freedom and made the most of their opportunity. Gonnard glared at the boy. "What do you mean, son? A letter for me? Where from?" The messenger grinned. "Don't get excited, comrade. It's not from a lady. I was walking down the Palyaudvar-utcza when a man came up to me and asked me if I would like to earn ten crowns. 'Make it twenty crowns,' I said to him, 'and I'm your man.' 'All right,' he growled. 'See, here's a letter. Take it up to Comrade Gonnard, who is living in the _château_ of Baron Szechenyi. He will be pleased to get it.' Then he gave me this letter, and I immediately brought it along. Give me a crown, comrade, and you can have it." Gonnard scowled. "Son of a pig, hand it over." He half rose from his seat, and the boy quickly tossed it on to the table in front of him.