tt could scarcely
realize that so little time had elapsed.

Cleggett strolled into the barroom and took a seat at a table in the
southeast corner of it, with his back to the angle of the walls. He
thus commanded a view of the bar itself; a door which led, as he
conjectured, into the kitchen; the door communicating with the office,
and a door which gave upon the west verandah--all this easily, and
without turning his head. By turning his head ever so slightly to his
right, he could command a view of the door leading to the east
verandah. Unless the ceiling suddenly opened above him, or the floor
beneath, it would be impossible to surprise him. Cleggett took this
position less through any positive fear of attack than because he
possessed the instinct of the born strategist. Cleggett was like
Robert E. Lee in his quick grasp of a situation and, indeed, in other
respects--although Cleggett would never under any circumstances have
countenanced human slavery.

There were only two men in the place when Cleggett took his seat, the
bartender and a fellow who was evidently a waiter. He had entered the
west door and walked across the room without looking at them,
withholding his gaze purposely. When he looked towards the bar, after
seating himself, the waiter, with his back towards Cleggett's corner,
was talking in a low tone to the bartender. But they had both seen him;
Cleggett perceived they both knew him.

"See what the gentleman wants, Pierre," said the bartender in a voice
too elaborately casual to hide his surprise at seeing Cleggett.

The waiter turned and came towards him, and Cleggett saw the man's face
for the first time. It was a face that Cleggett never forgot.
Cleggett judged the man to be a Frenchman; he was dark and sallow, with
nervous, black eyebrows, and a smirk that came and went quickly. But
the unforgettable feature was a mole that grew on his upper lip, on the
right side, near the base of his flaring nostril. Many moles have
hairs in them; Pierre's mole had not merely half a dozen hairs, but a
whole crop. They grew thick and long; and, with a perversion of vanity
almost inconceivable in a sane person, Pierre had twisted these hairs
together, as a man twists a mustache, and had trained them to grow
obliquely across his cheek bone. He was a big fellow, for a Frenchman,
and, as he walked towards Cleggett with a mincing elasticity of gait,
he smirked and caressed this whimsical adornment. Clegge