sinister malevolence that seemed to hang about the doctor.

As far as I could see, most of the talking was being done by the man
with the scar. He also appeared to be the host, for I saw him pick
up the wine list, and after consulting his companion's taste give a
carefully selected order to the waiter. Then my own dinner began to
arrive, and putting aside _La Vie_, I propped up the _Pall Mall_ in
front of me and started to attack the soup.

All through the meal I divided my attention between the paper and the
looking-glass. I was careful how I made use of the latter, for the
waiter was hovering about most of the time, and I didn't want him
to think that I was spying on some of the other customers. So quite
genuinely I waded through the news, keeping on glancing in the mirror
over the top of the paper from time to time just to see how things
were progressing behind me.

That my two friends were getting along together very well was evident
not only from their faces but from the sounds of laughter which at
intervals came floating down the room. Indeed, so animated was their
conversation, that although I had begun my dinner later, I had
finished some little time before they had. I had no intention of
leaving first, however, so ordering myself some coffee, I sat back in
my chair, and with the aid of a cigar, continued my study of the _Pall
Mall_.

I was in the middle of a spirited article on the German trouble,
headed "What Does the Kaiser Mean?" when glancing in the mirror I saw
a waiter advance to the table behind me, carrying a bottle of port
in a basket, with a care that suggested some exceptional vintage. He
poured out a couple of glasses, and then placing it reverently on the
table, withdrew from the scene.

I watched both men take a sip, and saw them set down their glasses
with a thoroughly satisfied air. Then the man with the scar made a
sudden remark to the other, who, turning his head, looked away over
his shoulder into the restaurant. His attention could only have been
withdrawn from the table for a couple of seconds at the most, but in
that fraction of time something happened which set my heart beating
rapidly in a kind of cold and tense excitement.

So swiftly, that if I had not been looking straight in the mirror I
should have missed seeing it, the man with the scar brought his hand
down over his companion's glass. Unless my eyes were playing me a
trick, I distinctly saw him empty something into the wine