The man stared.

"Monsieur," purred Carl audaciously, "is doubtless more interested
in--let us say--camp fires for instance, than such a vulgar blaze as
yonder car."

"One is powerless," returned the other haughtily, "to answer riddles."

Carl bowed with curiously graceful insolence.

"As if one could even hope to break such splendid nerve as that!" he
murmured appreciatively. "It is an impassiveness that comes only with
training. Monsieur," he added imperturbably, "I have had the
pleasure--of seeing you before."

"It is possible!" shrugged the other politely.

"Under strikingly different conditions!" pursued Carl reminiscently.
There was a disappointing lack of interest in the other's face.

"Even that is possible," assented the foreigner stiffly, "Environment
is a shifting circumstance of many colors. The honor of your
acquaintance, however, I fear is not mine."

Carl's eyes, dark and cold as agate, compelled attention.

"My name," said he deliberately, "is Granberry, Carl Westfall
Granberry."

The brief interval of silence was electric.