more than ever convinced that no friendship was lost between them. My
position in the room was such that any one entering would not detect
my presence until he was right up to the bar, and to this sheltered
seat I was undoubtedly indebted for a very strange experience.

During a lull in the patently forced conversation I heard footsteps
upon the cobbles outside. Hawkins and the landlord exchanged a swift
glance, and then to my surprise they both stared at me questioningly.
Before a word could be exchanged, however, and before I had time even
to surmise what this covert uneasiness might portend, a young fellow
entered whose carriage and dress immediately attracted my attention.

He was attired, then, in a sort of burlesque "fashionable" lounge suit
and wore a straw hat set rakishly backward on his well-oiled dark
hair. He carried gloves and a malacca cane, and his gait was one of
assured superiority. He was a stoutly-built, muscular young fellow and
might ordinarily have been good-looking after a rustic fashion, but
what principally rendered him noticeable was the fact that he wore
surgical bandages around his neck in lieu of a collar and that his
face was literally a mosaic of sticking-plaster!

"Evening, Martin--evening, Hawkins," he said jauntily; and advancing
to the bar, "The usual, Martin."

As he gave the order and as the landlord turned to execute it,
exhibiting a sort of half-amused deference, the embarrassed glance of
Hawkins, who was watching me uncomfortably, drew the newcomer's
attention to my presence. He turned in a flash and I saw those parts
of his face which were visible between the pieces of strapping to turn
fierily red. His brown eyes glared at me, and: