"A red elephant," the man called Anton said.
"In here," the Hindu said evenly, and led the way to the rear.
The rooms beyond were comfortable but not ostentatious. They passed
through a livingroom-study to an office beyond. The door was open and
the Indian merely gestured in the way of introduction, and then left.
Kirill Menzhinsky, agent superior of the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_
for North Africa, looked up from his desk, smiled his pleasure, came
to his feet and held out his hand.
"Anton!" he said. "I've been expecting you."
The man they called Anton smiled honestly and shook. "Kirill," he
said. "It's been a long time."
The other motioned to a comfortable armchair, resumed his own seat.
"It's been a long time all right--almost five years. As I recall, I
was slung over your shoulder, and you were wading through those
confounded swamps. The ..."
"The Everglades."
"Yes." The heavy-set Russian espionage chief chuckled. "You are much
stronger than you look, Anton. As I recall, I ordered you to abandon
me."
The wiry Negro grunted deprecation. "You were delirious from your
wound."
The Russian came to his feet, turned his back and went to a small
improvised bar. He said, his voice low, "No, Anton, I wasn't
delirious. Perhaps a bit afraid, but then the baying of dogs is
disconcerting."