Which was when he started 'signing' the street paintings as Banczhi! of course, that just added to the mystery, as he had intended; now, instead of simply wondering who did them, the question on everyone's lips was: "who is Banczhi?" it was risky, of course: although only a very few knew who he actually was, and those were absolutely trustworthy, there were also the casual, paid, helpers – the street Arabs – the kids who, for a few coins, kept a look-out for the police or anyone who might alert them, they had no loyalty except to whoever paid them and a reward being offered by the City authorities, and several newspapers, would have been more than Dada slipped them, but, thankfully – and here Dada was worried that his cernuous petit-bourgeois antecedents were showing – they neither had the ability to read nor, even if they could read, never read newspapers! so Banczhi kept on with his under-cover-of-darkness work; and after working all day on designs and set-painting for Cabaret Voltaire, he went out after dark with two co-conspiritors, to stencil his latest creations onto fresh canvases, and, one of his best, featured a large jabroni police officer and the unmistakeable figure of Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, upbraiding several children for playing knots and crosses on a wall outside the Police Headquarters! and next morning a grainy photograph seemed to show Banczhi at work; it appeared on the front page of Neue Freie Presse under the headline They Seek Him Here, They Seek Him There, Right Under Their Noses, Everywhere! and asked the question: if our photographer can find him, how is it that the Police are still scratching their arses and stuffing their faces with strudel? of course, it was a fraud, for Banczhi (or rather, Dada) had taken the photograph himself and the slightly out-of-focus artist was actually a passing drunk who, for a nip of best Laphroaig from Dada's hip-flask, had quite happily posed in the field of vision as the artist at work and, even if in the sober light of morning he recognised himself and had any memory of the night before, it wasn't Dada, or Banczhi, himself who had spoken to him and posed him, with a paint-brush, for the photograph, that had in fact been Tristan, who delighted in any liaisons dangereuses and of course, for him, as a Romanian, there might have been the danger of being expelled if the Authorities decided to cut up rough; and so the project of bringing Art onto the Streets continued unabated, and included a growing number of imitators, who only muddied the waters for, unless their wage budget was doubled or tripled, there were never going to be sufficient numbers of police on the streets at night to seriously threaten Dada or restrict him in his self-imposed task!