What I mean is----"
Maraquita's eyes seemed to shoot forth two flames.
"Take care," she cried. "With me it is nothing, for I know that your
heart is with Paranoya. But, if the others once had cause to suspect
that your resolve was failing--ah! If Bombito----"
Roland took her point. He had forgotten Bombito for the moment.
"For goodness' sake," he said hastily, "don't go saying anything to
Bombito to give him the idea that I'm trying to back out. Of course you
can rely on me, and all that. That's all right."
Maraquita's gaze softened. She raised her glass--they were lunching at
the time--and put it to her lips.
"To the Savior of Paranoya!" she said.
"Beware!" whispered a voice in Roland's ear.
He turned with a start. A waiter was standing behind him, a small,
dark, hairy man. He was looking into the middle distance with the
abstracted air which waiters cultivate.
Roland stared at him, but he did not move.
That evening, returning to his flat, Roland was paralyzed by the sight
of the word "Beware" scrawled across the mirror in his bedroom. It had
apparently been done with a diamond.
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