mmediately recognized the elder of
the two as J. H. Lyon, one of the wealthiest elevator owners and millers
of Rochester, a quiet, shrewd, calculating business man, who had amassed
vast wealth, or the reputation of its possession, and its consequent
commercial respect and credit.

He was a short, small-sized man, dressed in plain but rich garments, and
wore no jewelry save a massive solitaire diamond ring. His head, which
seemed to contain an average brain, was solidly set on a great, heavy
neck, that actually continued to the top of the back of his head without
a curve or depression. His hair, and beard--which was shaven away from
his lower lip to the curve of his chin--had a shaggy sort of look,
though generally well kept, and were considerably tinged with gray;
while his eyebrows were remarkably long, irregular, and forbidding. His
eyes were medium-sized, of a grayish-brown color, and under the heavy
shade of the brows somewhat keen and restless. His cheek-bones were
quite prominent, and below them his cheeks sank away noticeably, which
served to more strikingly show the upward turn of his nose and his full
lips and broad, sensual mouth, which, with its half-shown, irregular
teeth and ever-present tobacco-stains (for he smoked or chewed
incessantly), gave him a face quite unlike those ordinarily supposed to
be captivating to women. With his broad, bony hands, large, ill-shaped
feet, and retiring, hesitating way, as if never exactly certain of
anything, he was truly a great contrast to the pompous, elegant
gentleman who seemed to have taken him under his fatherly protection.

Lyon slid into his seat in a nervous, diffident way; while Harcout, who
had just drawn his chair between us, as if he desired it understood that
he did not propose to yield his office of general manager of this
vitally important affair under any circumstances, beamed on his friend
reassuringly.

After a few remarks on the current topics of the day, and before they
were themselves aware of it, we were getting along swimmingly towards an
understanding of the subject-matter--Lyon, who had removed his cigar,
fairly eating an immense amount of fine-cut as the voluble Harcout
rattled away about the bold, bad woman who had entrapped him.

"Why, my dear Mr. Pinkerton, it's a terrible matter--an infamous
affair! My friend here, Mr. Lyon, is quite nettled about it--I might
say, quite cut up. You can see for yourself, sir, that it's wearing on
him." Thi