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and gathered up his bags.
    All the way out to the airport he thought of the cardinal rule Marusaki had impressed on that afternoon. If one had to live a role, one lived it every minute of the day and night. If one was to be a pearl dealer from Port Darwin, for example, one thought, lived, slept, and ate as a pearl dealer — and was nothing else until the moment came when that role led to one's goal.
    In one respect he was very lucky. He did not have to assume another personality at all — and he probably wouldn't be fitted for acting. No, he had already a perfect reason to poke and pry around old cities and ask logical and profitable questions about places and people. He was only a history student interested in an obscure military order which had been in existence for a short time seven hundred years ago.
    So as a tourist he enjoyed to the full the excitement oftravel by night on the huge “Flying Dutchman,” eastward bound to meet the sun. From the moment Quinn took his seat with the rest of the travelers en route for Shannon and Amsterdam he gave himself wholly to the fun of traveling only as one who has been long rooted in one place can.
    His seatmate, who had boarded the plane later, barely finding his place before the door closed, seemed totally uninterested in his surroundings and spent the very short night sleeping heavily. His round face with its plastic rimmed glasses was so utterly commonplace that he made no impression on Quinn.
    Being spring the night was short, darkness hardly having a chance to close down before they were speeding into the dawn. Quinn aroused as they curved in for their final landing. Below, the green of polder grass was cut by the silver of canals. But most wonderful of all were the squares and rectangles of living color. Sheets of crimson, rose, white, yellow, blue —
    Perhaps it was Quinn's gasp which awakened his seatmate. He leaned across, bumping his head sleepily against the pane almost cheek to cheek with the American.
    â€œThose are bulb fields, Mijnheer.” His English carried a thick accent. “These you have not seen before?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWe are still to the east flying. See, that starfish below — that is Naarden. Watch the canals, there should be on them flower barges bound for the city. This is the season that the fields are at their peak.” He sat back in his seat and stared frankly at Quinn. “This is perhaps your first visit to the Nederlands, Mijnheer?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen you have chosen well the proper time in which to come. Den Haag, Marken, Amsterdam, Rotterdam — you have them all before you at their finest. You travel forbusiness or for your pleasure, Mijnheer?”
    â€œNeither,” Quinn returned with what he hoped was just the right amount of enthusiasm. “I am a student over here to do some historical research.”
    â€œAh, a student! Do you then go to Leyden or Utrecht?”
    â€œNot yet. I have some time free for sightseeing first.”
    â€œGood! You will look about our Nederlands before you must, as your countrymen say, ‘dig into your books.’ Well, Nederlands is not now so great as once it was — this poor country. We have lost the Indies. So back here — where there is so little, so very little land — must come hundreds, thousands of peole who have lived for generations under another sun. It is a sad business for all. Tighten up the belt — that is what now we must all do. Ah, now we approach Schipol. Look well around you here, Mijnheer. This airport is the crossroads for half the world today. From here you may go without difficulty to India, to Egypt — to Timbuktu — if you wish.”
    When they landed Quinn found himself taken in charge by this self-appointed guide. The Netherlander insisted upon escorting him to the customs, somewhat officiously dealing with the currency forms and explaining in detail papers Quinn already