"Oh," said the stranger, obviously upset. "Then let me have a glass of
regular beer--mild, please."
I smiled at Jimmy as he filled a glass. All sorts came into Shannon's.
Outside, the traffic on Third Avenue was only a faint hum.
The stranger licked the foam tentatively and wrinkled his nose in
distaste. He put the glass back on the bar and shook his head.
"_Pro superi! quantum mortalia pectora caecae, Noctis habent._"
"Huh?" said Jimmy.
The stranger smiled briefly. "That is Latin. It means, Oh, ye gods, what
darkness of night there is in mortal minds."
Jimmy shrugged and went back to wiping glasses. The stranger nodded to
me. "Ovid said that. He was a wise man."
"Friend of yours?" I asked, just to be polite.
"He died nearly two thousand years ago." He tasted the beer again and
pushed it away. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Horace Howard
Clarke, associate professor of Roman History at one of the universities
in the city."
I introduced myself and we shook hands. "Tell me," he said, "do you
believe New York can be conquered?"
One of those kind, I thought. And here I was with an hour to kill before
meeting my date. "Lots of people have taken it in," I started.
"I don't mean that kind. I mean physically invaded."
"Pretty big job, I'd think."
"Very simple." He dropped a small metal disk on the bar. "This could do
it--or at least help."