"Wal?"

Bat was still standing. He failed to grasp his friend's purpose. His wit
was unequal to the rapid process of the other's swiftly calculating
mind.

Standing littered his writing-pad with papers. He picked up a pen and
jabbed it in the inkwell. Then he flung it aside and adopted a
fountain-pen which he drew from his waistcoat pocket. His eyes lit with
a half-smile as he finally raised them to the rugged face before him.

"You sit right over there by that window, Bat," he said easily. "If you
get a look out of it you'll be amazed at the number of things to
interest you." He nodded as Bat moved away with a grin and took the
chair indicated. "That's it. Just sit around, and you won't see or even
hear the fellow with the mail fall in through the door. And maybe,
sitting there, you'll want to smoke your foul old pipe. Sort of pipe of
peaceful meditation. Yes, I'd smoke that pipe, old friend, but you can
cut out the peaceful meditation. You need to be ready to act quick when
I pass the word. It's going to be easy. So easy I almost feel sorry
for--Idepski."

"It _is_--Idepski?" Bat filled and lit his pipe.

"It surely is. No other. And--I'm glad. Now we'll quit talk, old friend.
Just smoke, and look out of that window, and--think like hell."

Bat's understanding of his friend was well founded. The extreme nervous
tension in Standing was obvious. It was in the wide, dark eyes. It was
in the constant shifting of the feet which the table revealed. For the