The third man did not speak. He sat in the best of the poor
chairs, and was snowed under with newspapers. He had the look of
an educated man, the jaw of a brute, the cold eye of a panther,
almost golden in color, and the slender hands that held the
printed sheet had the delicate, thin fingers of a thief.

"Door, Adolph!" he said abruptly. The thickset man rose,
spilling his cards. The third man pierced him with a look.
"Butter fingers!" he gritted, cursing softly in a foreign tongue.
Adolph left the room and noiselessly went down a rickety flight
of stairs. He returned in a moment, the Weasel following at his
heels. The third man did not give him a glance. He sat looking
at his beautiful, slender hands. No one spoke.

"Well, proceed!" cried the third man irritably. "Proceed!
Proceed! Proceed! Himmel, you must be led step by step! Speak,
idiot! How goes it?"

A look of hate flashed into the Weasel's lowered eyes and was
gone. He raised them timidly.

"So far, so good, Excellency. I hung on behind the tonneau. No
one noticed in that lazy village. I could hear the Colonel
talking to the two small boys with him. He can't understand the
attack, but he thinks the force he is building is being attacked
through him on account of a gang of thieves who do not want to
risk detection by his men. He thinks it has something to do with
the fair. The Colonel has gone to police headquarters. The boys
went home." The Weasel commenced to laugh silently.