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By Root 292 0

very model of a gentlemanly flaneur, whiling away his hours in what some would call a desultory way. He buys his cigarettes at Sullivan's and his newspaper from the same kiosk at the south-eastern corner of the arcades. He carries a cane in ebony and silver. His gloves are always that perfect shade of lavender, matching his cravat. His coat is cut just so, his hat sits at just such an angle, and in his buttonhole always the same crimson rosebud emphasizing those blood red eyes of his. Women, of course, are fascinated by him. Yet, with a recent exception, he keeps no regular engagements with anyone, though he enjoys a little flirtation over an aperitif, perhaps. He tips well and is much liked by the staff wherever he takes refreshment. Sometimes a Lagonda limousine calls for him at the north-west entrance. We have been able to trace the car to the general area of Clichy, but all we know is that it is driven by a Japanese chauffeur and is garaged in rue Clement in the name of a Monsieur Amano. There its batteries are recharged. Everything is in order. The Lagonda has not left Paris since we have been observing it.”

“And as far as you know neither has Monsieur Zenith?”

“Exactly.”

“Where does he go at night?” Dr. Sinclair wanted to know.

“That's the thing, old man,” said LeBec in English, “we simply can't find out!”

“It is as if he becomes invisible from the evening hours until mid-morning,” added Lapointe. “Then, suddenly, he appears in the Opera Arcades, perfectly dressed and poised, as ever. Even if we had a cause to arrest him, which we have not, he would still evade us. Indeed if he had not been seen in the company of a suspected Nazi agent, we would not devote so much interest to him. He is a decorated war hero, after all, leading a Polish electric cavalry brigade during the recent conflict. But sadly his actions suggest that he is helping organize whatever Nazi plot is about to be unleashed on honest civilians. His name has come up more than once in various coded messages we have intercepted. Sometimes he is merely Monsieur Z, sometimes ‘Zenith’ and sometimes ‘Zodiac’ All versions of his own given name, of course. There is no doubt at all that he is Count Rudolf Zoran von Bek, descendant of the infamous ‘Crimson Eyes’ who terrorized the people of Mirenburg and London in the course of the last century. He renounced his title as hereditary ruler of Wäldenstein. So as for Hitler's intention to restore Zenith as puppet monarch there, had his plans for the conquest of Europe been successful, it is surely nonsense!”

“He has never regretted giving up his title,” mused Sir Seaton. From his mouth now issued alarming quantities of dark smoke as he fired up his old pipe. “I am still curious as to why he moved his base from London to Paris. He was even rumoured to have been seen recently in Berlin. It is as if he were fascinated by our friend Herr Hitler.

This is not the first time he and that gentleman have been linked in various incarnations across the multiverse.”

“Perhaps he agrees with Hitler's ideas?” ventured Lapointe. But Begg shook his head.

“They are scarcely ‘ideas.’ They are the opinions of beerhall braggarts of the kind commonly found throughout the world. They emerge to fill a vacuum. They might appeal to an uneducated and unemployed labourer, a dispossessed shopkeeper or disenchanted professional soldier like Rohm—even some brainless and inbred titled fool. But Zenith is none of those things. He is both well educated and of superior intelligence. His only weakness is his thirst for danger, for the thrill which fills the veins with pounding blood and which takes one's mind off the dullness of the day-to-day.” Begg knew exactly what moved his old adversary. The expression on Dr. Sinclair's face suggested that he thought the metatemporal investigator's remark might well have been a self-description. Begg continued, “He would only ally himself with such a creature if it somehow suited his own schemes. Years ago after he was rescued from secret police headquarters where he had been imprisoned and tortured for his