But Hoag had not stayed on the front steps when Griffith disappeared into the building. He was unwilling to rely on Griffith's carrying his message, and he had no confidence the police would act on it. If Mahzeer was alone with the prime minister he could be arranging his execution while Hoag stood out here shivering in the darkening street. He would have to do something on his own. But what?

The door opened and three men and a woman in a sari swept past him and down the stairs. In the lighted interior he saw other men and women struggling into their wraps. These were the early departures; in half an hour the reception would be over. If Mahzeer was planning to set up the prime minister for Muller he would have to do it in the next few minutes. Hoag descended the stone steps to the street and looked up at the building. Wide windows with many small leaded panes swept across the upper stories. On the second floor he saw the animated faces of the party guests; the scene looked like a Christmas card. On the third floor one of the two windows was lighted; it was framed in maroon drapes, and no faces were visible. This would be Mahzeer's office. He and the prime minister would be back from the window, seated at Mahzeer's desk; they would be going over papers Mahzeer had saved as excuse for just such a meeting. In a minute, or five minutes, the business would be done; Mahzeer would stand up, the prime minister would follow. Mahzeer would direct the prime minister's attention to something out the window and would guide him forward and then step to one side. The single shot would come; Hoag would carry its sound to his grave. Mahzeer, of course, would be desolate. How was he to suspect that an assassin had been lurking somewhere across the street waiting for just such a chance?