sure that the "tap room," as it was ostentatiously called, was
sufficiently filled to enable him to mingle with the patrons without
attracting undue notice, followed.

He looked about for a sight of the chauffeur, and saw him leaning up
against the bar, sipping a glass of beer, and, between imbibitions,
talking earnestly to the white-aproned bartender.

"I'd like to hear what they're saying," mused the colonel. "I wonder if
I can get a bit nearer."

He ordered some rye, and, having disposed of it, took out a cigar, and
began searching in his pockets as though for a match.

"Here you are!" observed a bartender, as he held out a lighted taper.

The colonel had anticipated this, and quickly moved down the mahogany
rail toward the end where Jean Forette was standing. At that end was
a little gas jet kept burning as a convenience to smokers.

"I'll use that," said the colonel. "I don't like the flavor of burnt
wood in my smoke."

"Fussy old duck," murmured the barkeeper as he let the flame he had
ignited die out, flicking the b1ackened end to the floor.

And, being careful to keep his face as much as possible in the shadow of
his big, slouch hat, Colonel Ashley lighted his cigar at the gas flame.

And, somehow or other, that cigar required a long and most careful