aesthetic fibre, was as important as the other. And, dressing for
dinner, he spoiled three shirts in the exact right fixing of his
studs.

In the dining-room, he pressed a liberal sum of American money on the
head waiter, and was conducted to the table he had occupied at
breakfast. Everyone, practically, except some unspeakable tourists,
was in formal clothes; and the conversations, the sparkling light,
were like the champagne everywhere evident. Charles chose a Spanish
wine, the Marquis de Riscal; and prolonged his sitting over coffee and
a cigar, a Partagas, like those in Andres' silk case. He had never
before tasted coffee with such a rich thick savor, its fragrance
alone, blending with the blue smoke of his cigar, filled him with
pleasure.

The room was long, tiled, and had, against the far wall, a great
mirror which held in reverse the gay sweep of the tables, the heavily
powdered shoulders of women, the prismatic flashes of diamonds and
men's animated faces. The reflections were almost as fascinating as
the reality, and Charles gazed from one to the other.

Drinking, he saw, was universal, but none of the Cubans were drunk;
and for that reason his attention was held by two men at the table
next to his: the waiter had left a bottle of brandy, and the
individual facing Charles, with a sallow face from which depended,
like a curtain, a square-cut black beard, was filling and refilling
his thimble-sized glass. He was watching, with a shifting intentness
of gaze, all who entered; and suddenly, as Charles' eyes were on him,
he put down his half-lifted brandy and a hand went under the fold of
his coat.

Charles turned, involuntarily, and saw a small immaculate Cuban with
grey hair and a ribband in his buttonhole advancing among the tables.
He was a man of distinguished appearance, important it was evident,
for a marked number of people bowed as he passed. When he had gone on,
the bearded individual rose, swaying slightly, and, with his hand
still in his coat rapidly overtook the other.

Charles Abbott had an impulse to cry out; but, oppressed by a sense of
helpless dread, impending disaster, without a sound or power of
movement he followed the course of the second figure. The two were now
at the end of the dining-room, close to the mirror, when the man with
the decoration stopped and turned sharply. There was the sudden
stabbing report of a pistol, and, immediately following, a loud
splintering crash. Charles had