CHAPTER XIII

EL COJO Well, I was up against it now. In vain my memory protested against the credibility of the evidence which my eyes could not repudiate. Grundt was dead these four years; had I not seen him, dimly through the blue haze of smoke from my brother's automatic, sink back lifeless on the carpet in the billiard-room of that frontier Schloss? Had I not even read his obituary in the German newspapers? Yet here he stood before me again, the man as I had known him in the past, ruthless-looking, formidable, sinister in…