"I knew you would understand," Hall said.

"What happens?"

"Don Anibal is dying. I think Ansaldo did it."

"He is a fascist, Mateo. You were absolutely right."

"How do you know? I need the proof immediately."

"There is a man in town who was trapped behind Franco's lines for two years. He knew Ansaldo well."

"That is good--for you and me. But it is not enough. There is too much at stake."

"I guessed as much, Mateo. General Mogrado sent a message from Mexico City a few days ago. He wanted the information also. I took this man in Havana and we went to a lawyer and he made a long affidavit about Ansaldo. Mogrado has the affidavit by this time."

"Who is this man? Is he well known?"

"No, Mateo. He was a minor official of the Ministry of Commerce. I have a copy of his affidavit, and you can meet him tomorrow if you wish. He is staying with relatives in Marianao."

"Let us try to see him tomorrow. But I need much more than his affidavit. I need more than anything else a picture of Ansaldo in Falange uniform, a picture that shows him with officers of Germany and Italy. I was in Burgos when the picture was taken--and I have a feeling that the picture is right here in Havana."

"Here? In Havana?"

"Listen, _companeros_. I saw the _Arriba_ man take that picture. I was standing a hundred feet away. It was in the spring or summer of 1938,"

Hall said. "I know you have the complete file of _Arriba_ here."

"No, Mateo. We do not."

The blood left Hall's head. "You don't?" he said. "But when I was here we ..."

"It is the complete file of _Arriba_ of Madrid since April of 1939, Mateo. Since Franco entered Madrid, _amigo_."

"And before that?"

"There are some, but not a complete file. They have many fascist papers at _Ahora_, and at the University there is Dr. Nazario with his personal collection of fascist publications. It is very large, and it goes back to 1935 in some cases, but it has many empty places."

"And the Secret Police? What has Colonel Lobo got?"

"Dossiers and doc.u.ments. But papers--who knows?"

"I'll be back in Madrid in a month," Rafael said. "I can go back sooner if it will help the cause, Mateo. There is surely a complete file there."

"No, thank you, Rafael, but I need the picture in a few hours." He told them why the pictures were needed, and how they would be used if he could find them.

"Don't worry," Santiago said. "There are three collections to examine, and in the meanwhile we might get some further clues from de Sola. He is a very intelligent fellow. I'll put him to work on Dr. Nazario's collection in the morning. Rafael, tonight you go to _Ahora_. Go through their Spanish collection, and then examine their files of _Arriba_ of Havana. The local _Arriba_ used more pictures than an American magazine, and most of them came from Franco Spain. You'd better go right now."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Shall I tell them what it's about, Mateo?"

"No, I'll tell them myself. I'm here on false papers. Just warn them that if they see me on the street I'm not to be recognized. But I'll see them before I leave."

"I'm going to call Lobo," Hall said. "At the very least his dossiers are more official than de Sola's affidavit."

Santiago shoved the phone toward Hall. "I was going to suggest it myself. Do you remember the number?"

"Of course."

There was no answer at Lobo's house. Hall called the headquarters of the National Police. "I want to reach Colonel Lobo," he said to the man who answered his call.

"We no longer have a Colonel Lobo."

"What?"

"We have a General Lobo, senor."

"Where is he?"

"Who is this speaking?"

"Who am I?" Hall hesitated. "If he's there, just tell him it's Johnny Verde Luna. He'll know who it is." Lobo called all Americans Johnny; Verde Luna was a horse he and Hall had played for three straight weeks at the Hipodromo until it romped home in front at the longest odds in ten years.

"I will, Mr. Johnny Green Moon," the other man said, in English. "When I see him tomorrow."

"I don't understand you, senor. I ..."

"He is not here, senor."

"I know. Don't tell me where he is. But do you know?"

"That depends."

"Listen to me, my friend," Hall said, his voice rising angrily, "I have no time to play games. If you know where he is, find him and give him my message. I'll call you every fifteen minutes until you get word from him."

"Yes, senor. I will do what I can. Where can I call you?"

"Never mind. I will call you." Hall hung up. "A clown!" he muttered.

"I forgot to tell you that Lobo is now a general."

"When did it happen?"

"Last week. It came as a reward for breaking up the Pinar del Rio n.a.z.i-Falange ring. You know, the one that was in radio contact with the German submarines."

"I remember it well." Hall had worked with Lobo in rooting the spy ring out. "I wonder where the h.e.l.l he is?"

"Who knows? But listen, Mateo, I know a man who knows all of Lobo's hangouts. Suppose I send him out to look?"

"Excellent. Just tell him to give Lobo this message--that he is the only man who can save the life of Don Anibal Tabio. Eh?"

"We'll try it. Wait here for me. I'll be right back."