Although he became no drunker, he grew politer after every
drink--also whiter in the face--and the bluish, bruised look
deepened under his eyes.

But he was a Chesterfield in manners; he did not stare at any of the
lively young persons in Peacock Alley, who seemed inclined to look
pleasantly at him; he made room for them to pass, hat in hand.

Several times he went to the telephone desk and courteously
requested various numbers; and always one of the three men who had
been keeping him in view stepped into the adjoining booth, but did
not use the instrument.

Several times he strolled through the crowded lobby to the desk and
inquired whether there were any messages or visitors for Mr. Kay
McKay; and the quiet, penetrating glances of the clerks on duty
immediately discovered his state of intoxication but nothing else,
except his extreme politeness and the tense whiteness of his face.

Two of the three men who were keeping him in view tried, at various
moments, to scrape acquaintance with him in the lobby, and at the
bar; and without any success.

The last man, who had again stepped into an adjoining booth while
McKay was telephoning, succeeded, by inquiring for McKay at the desk
and waiting there while he was being paged.

The card on which this third man of the trio had written bore the
name Stanley Brown; and when McKay hailed the page and perused the