Gonnard's dazed glance wandered from side to side--from the face of the grinning messenger to the puzzled countenance of the detective. How came this spectre from the past? How knew the White Knight that he was the murderer? "Well?" asked Gunzi inquiringly. "Nothing--nothing," muttered Gonnard. "I want to know about that note." The detective turned it over and over in his fingers. "No clue of any kind." He turned to the boy. "What was the man like who gave you this? Can you describe him?" "Yes, of course," answered the urchin, and Gonnard and Gunzi leaned forward, a gleam of hope lighting up their faces. "He was tall, though not too tall, say about--about as high as my father, who is bigger than either of you, comrades. His eyes were a greeny blue, or perhaps brown, I forget now. His hair was a darkish brown, nearly black in parts, and he was dressed as you, not quite so well as I." Gonnard groaned. The explanation might fit anyone in the world. "Get out!" he shouted. The boy turned tail and ran, wondering what had happened. Gunzi grinned. "Not of very much assistance, comrade. Apparently the Devil is not as conspicuous as I had believed." Gonnard turned upon the detective with an ugly snarl. "Cease your prattling, Gunzi. This is no laughing matter." His eyes narrowed into mere slits, and he leaned forward in the other's direction, gazing fiercely at him. "Listen, my friend. It is written that the past is past. I am a People's Commissary now, and have the ear of Bela Kun. It will be a bad day for you, Gunzi, if by next week you have not laid this cursed _bourgeois_ by the heels. This day week some one is going to hang, and if it is not the White Knight--comrade, you have a nice soft neck. It would be a pity to see its tender skin black and blue, rasped and bruised by a rope. Do you think it within the bounds of possibility that you might bring this dog to me--soon?" His bombast did not worry the rat-faced Gunzi. He shrugged his shoulders. "To-day week should be an interesting one. Yet it will not be I who will hang--and it might not be the White Knight, friend." With that he strolled from the room and left the ex-convict and murderer alone with his thoughts. _CHAPTER XI_ Comrade Gonnard spent an unpleasant night. At supper he both dined and wined in unwise manner, so that no sooner had he laid his head upon the pillow than he became conscious of the fact. Whatever his feelings awake, they were mild compared to the succession of nightmares which visited him asleep. It was an ill-tempered and uneasy comrade who arose at a late hour next morning. He drank his coffee with a gulp, and opened his newspaper. There was a note pinned to the front page: Still six days, Comrade Gonnard. THE WHITE KNIGHT His face whitened to a chalky pallor; he gazed at the warning with dilated eyes.