trains makes short journeys. . . . I sat up stiffly in my seat.
Diagonally across the aisle sat the very chap I had met in the
curio-shop! He was quietly reading a popular magazine, and
occasionally a smile lightened his sardonic mouth. Funny that I should
run across him twice in the same evening! Men who are contemplating
suicide never smile in that fashion. He was smoking a small,
well-colored meerschaum pipe with evident relish. Somehow, when a man
clenches his teeth upon the mouth-piece of a respectable pipe, it seems
impossible to associate that man with crime. But the fact that I had
seen him selecting a pistol in a pawnshop rather neutralized the good
opinion I was willing to form. I have already expressed my views upon
the subject. The sight of him rather worried me, though I could not
reason why. Whither was he bound? Had he finally taken one of
Friard's pistols? For a moment I was on the point of speaking to him,
if only to hear him tell more lies about the ten of hearts, but I
wisely put aside the temptation. Besides, it might be possible that he
would not be glad to see me. I always avoid the chance acquaintance,
unless, of course, the said chance acquaintance is met under favorable
circumstances--like the girl in Mouquin's, for instance! After all, it
was only an incident; and, but for his picking up that card, I never
should have remembered him.

Behind him sat a fellow with a countenance as red and round and
complacent as an English butler's,--red hair and small twinkling eyes.
Once he leaned over and spoke to my chance acquaintance, who, without
turning his head, thrust a match over his shoulder. The man with the
face of a butler lighted the most villainous pipe I ever beheld. I
wondered if they knew each other. But, closely as I watched, I saw no
sign from either. I turned my collar up and snuggled down. There was
no need of his seeing _me_.