his companions smiled politely and resumed their way.
During the pause, Margo identified Durez quite easily, by his thin,
sharp-featured face and small nervous eyes. As for the others, four of them,
three looked very much alike, darkish men, who made good stooges for Durez.
The fourth man was a pronounced exception.
His face was dark as the result of tan acquired by long residence in the
tropics. At that, it was but a mild shade of bronze, and he must have suffered
sunburn during the tanning process, for his complexion wasn't the sort to take
tan well. His light hair, a real straw-yellow, indicated that his natural skin
color should be a very clear white.
He looked youthful, probably more so than he was, and his trim uniform
enhanced his military bearing. In fact, Margo was wondering if he'd be more
handsome if he weren't tanned, when it suddenly came to her who he was. She'd
read about him in an extra, while riding to the airways base by cab.
This young man was Colin Nayre, until lately captain of the guard in
Castenago's own palace. Margo had expected Nayre to be a grizzled soldier of
fortune; instead, he looked like a recent graduate from a military college;
which, indeed, he might be.
Somehow, for reasons not specified in the skimpy edition of the newspaper,
Nayre had shifted from Castenago and joined the Durez faction.
Nayre didn't seem the sort who would sell out anyone, even a double-dyed
wolf like Castenago. It struck Margo that the rise against Castenago must have
reached the point of open demand, rather than remaining a secret cabal;
otherwise, a decent chap like Nayre wouldn't have had part in it.
MARGO'S reflections were promptly justified. Past the big globe, Nayre
overtook Durez and plucked his arm. In a voice that was pleasant, yet touched
with an embarrassed tone, Nayre spoke:
"Perhaps I should leave you here, senor. You have important business to
attend to, with your friends, while I -"
"No no," interrupted Durez sharply. "You come with us, capitan. You are to
be our guest, and we shall remember you in that so important business."
"But we are no longer in Centralba -"
"Exactly! We are safer here than there. You come with us, capitan, to the
Hotel Equator, where we have one fine room reserved for you. We talk business
with the bankers, and afterward -"
Margo heard no more. The party was nearing the main doorway leading out to
the avenue of royal palms, where cars awaited them. She saw the cavalcade roar
away; it was paced by motorcycle police. Then came the cars, and finally an
armored truck, carrying the precious coffers. By the time another motorcycle
squad had closed behind the speedy caravan, Margo was on her way to a telephone
booth.
The afternoon was late. Darkness would soon arrive in the sudden way it
did in Miami's clime. As she called the municipal airport, Margo was hopeful
that Cranston's plane had arrived. She learned that it hadn't, though it was
expected any minute. So Margo left a message.
"Tell Mr. Cranston that Miss Lane called," she said. "I'm stopping at the
Hotel Equator, in Miami Beach, and will meet him there."
It happened that Margo wasn't stopping at the Equator. Some of her friends
