expression. I noted his unusual pallor and his cast of
dissipation, also the continual working of his long, lean fingers.
There are certain set fixtures in the night life of any city. But
this was not one. He was not an habitue. There was a certain
greatness to his loneliness and his isolation. I wondered.

Just then he looked up. By a mere coincidence our eyes met. He
smiled, a weak smile and a forlorn one, and it seemed to me rather
pitiful. Then as suddenly his glance wandered to the door behind
me. Perhaps there was something in my expression that caught
Hobart's attention. He turned about.

"Say, Harry, who is that fellow? I know that face, I'm certain."

"Come to think I have seen him myself. I wonder--"

The young man looked up again. The same weary smile. He nodded.
And again he glanced over my shoulder toward the door. His face
suddenly hardened.

"He knows us at any rate," I ventured.

Now Hobart was sitting with his face toward the entrance. He could
see anyone coming or going. Following the young man's glance he
looked over my shoulder. He suddenly reached over and took me by
the forearm.

"Don't look round," he warned; "take it easy. As I said--on my
honour as a fat man."