and swearing like the whole Flanders army. He searched presses, drawers, nooks and corners with hands and eyes.
"Anything missing?'* mocked Mark.
"Only my duds—I bet those confounded roommates of mine—(followed a string of epithets that wouldn't look well in print) stole and pawned them, for they had neither cigarette nor lunch money this morning."
"Come to think," put in the secretary, "I saw Monsieur Hector leave with a bundle."
"My jeans, coat and vest," shrieked "Swithin," tearing his hair, while Mark writhed with laughter.
"And there were fifteen or twenty sous in an inside pocket besides," moaned "Swithin."
"I know Monsieur Hector's hang-out," said the secretary, "and if you like I will go and choke the pawn tickets out of the pair."
"Couldn't do better if you tried," opined Mark, "for no doubt by this time they have devoured the proceeds of their brigandage. Hurry, before they sell the tickets."
We found Hector and his brother-bandit behind a magnum of fake champagne, gourmandizing at the Dead Cat, a newly opened restaurant destined to become famous in Bohemia.
"Sure," they said, "we borrowed old Swithin's old clothes, but expected to bring them back before seven. We are now waiting for the angel who promised to relieve our financial distress, which is only momentary, of course."
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