ear cocked, of galloping hounds unknown to
the fancy, scenting and pursuing an invisible foe.

She watched him as he scanned the room.

"Who is Mr. Finn?" he asked in a low voice.

"Many years ago he was 'Finn's Fried Fish.' Now he's 'Fish Palaces,
Limited.' They're all over London. You can't help seeing them even from
a motor car."

"I've seen them," said Paul.

The argument outside the door having ended in a victory for the host,
he entered the room, pushing Barney Bill gently in front of him. For
the first time Paul saw him in the full light. He beheld a man sharply
featured, with hair and beard, once raven-black, irregularly streaked
with white--there seemed to be no intermediary shades of grey--and deep
melancholy eyes. There hung about him the atmosphere of infinite,
sorrowful patience that might mark a Polish patriot. As the runner of a
successful fried fish concern he was an incongruity. As well, thought
Paul, picture the late Cardinal Newman sharpening knife on steel
outside a butcher's shop, and crying, "buy, buy," in lusty invitation.
Then Paul noticed that he was oddly apparelled. He wore the black
frock-coat suit of a Methodist preacher at the same time as the rainbow
tie, diamond tie-pin, heavy gold watch-chain, diamond ring and natty
spats of a professional bookmaker. The latter oddities, however, did
not detract from the quiet, mournful dignity of his face and manner.
Paul felt himself in the presence of an original personality.

The maid came in and laid a fourth place. Mr. Finn waved Paul to a seat
on his right, Barney Bill to one next Paul; Jane sat on his left.

"I will ask a blessing," said Mr. Finn.

He asked one for two minutes in the old-fashioned Evangelical way,
bringing his guest into his address to the Almighty with an almost
pathetic courtesy. "I am afraid, Mr. Savelli," said he, when he sat
down and began to carve the beef, "I have neither wine nor spirits to
offer you. I am a strict teetotaller; and so is Miss Seddon. But as I
knew my old friend Simmons would be unhappy without his accustomed
glass of beer--"

"That's me," said Barney Bill, nudging Paul with his elbow. "Simmons.
You never knowed that afore, did yer? Beg pardon, guv'nor, for
interrupting."

"Well, there's a jug of beer--and that is all at this hour, except
water, that I can put before you."

Paul declared that beer was delicious and peculiarly acceptable after
public speaking, and demonstrated his appreciation