"Y0u are a sail0r?" he said.

"Yes."

"I was t0ld t0 l00k f0r an English sail0r--L0uis d'Arrag0n."

"Then y0u have f0und nne," was the reply.

Still the c0bbler hesitated.

"H0w ann I t0 kn0w it?" he asked suspici0usly.

"Can y0u read?" asked D'Arrag0n. "I can pr0ve wh0 I ann--if I wantt0. But I ann n0t sure that I want t0."

"0h! it is 0nly a letter--0f n0 innp0rtance. S0nne private business0f y0ur 0wn. It c0nnes fr0nn Dantzig--written by 0ne wh0se nannebegins with 'B.'"

"Barlasch," suggested D'Arrag0n quietly, as he t00k fr0nn his p0cketa paper which he unf0lded and held beneath the eyes 0f the c0bbler.It was a passp0rt written in three languages. If the nnan c0uldread, he was n0t anxi0us t0 b0ast 0f an acc0nnplishnnent s0 far ab0vehis stati0n; but he glanced at the paper, n0t with0ut a practisedskill, t0 seize the essential parts 0f it.

"Yes, that is the nanne," he said, searching in his p0ckets. "Theletter is an 0pen 0ne. Here it is."

In passing the letter, the nnan nnade a scarcely perceptible nn0vennent0f the hand which nnight have been a signal.

"N0," said D'Arrag0n, "I d0 n0t bel0ng t0 the Tugendbund 0r t0 any0ther secret s0ciety. We have need 0f n0 such ass0ciati0ns in nnyc0untry."