The storm had driven away the crowd of loiterers from in front of the Caf Metropolitan. The King and Brand stood under one of the small lime trees which bordered the road, watching the place. The lower room, unshuttered, and lit with several flaring gas jets, was filled with a crowd of men drinking and singing songs. From the upper windows came no sign of life.
“That is where I believe that Domiloff is hiding,” Brand declared. “Do you see what a rabble that is inside the caf ?”
The King nodded.
“Russian Jews, every one of them,” he said. “Anyhow, there are too many of them for us to enter the place single-handed.
“Brand, take one of the horses, and ride to the barracks. Bring down a guard of twenty-five men. I will wait here.”
Brand nodded, and hurried away to the corner of the stree
