which characterised all his movements. Then he descended into the
hall, bought a newspaper, and from a convenient easy-chair kept a
close observation upon every one who passed to and fro for about
an hour. Later on he ordered a carriage, and made several calls
down town.

At a few minutes past twelve he entered the bar of the Fifth Avenue
Hotel, and ordering a drink sat down at one of the small tables.
The room was full, but Mr. Sabin's attention was directed solely to
one group of men who stood a short distance away before the counter
drinking champagne. The central person of the group was a big man,
with an unusually large neck, a fat pale face, a brown moustache
tinged with grey, and a voice and laugh like a fog-horn. It was he
apparently who was paying for the champagne, and he was clearly on
intimate terms with all the party. Mr. Sabin watched for his
opportunity, and then rising from his seat touched him on the
shoulder.

"Mr. Skinner, I believe?" he said quietly.

The big man looked down upon Mr. Sabin with the sullen offensiveness
of the professional bully.

"You've hit it first time," he admitted. "Who are you, anyway?"

Mr. Sabin produced a card.

"I called this morning," he said, "upon the gentleman whose name you
will see there. He directed me to you, and told me to come here."