d away at his brierwood. Being mistaken for a central office
detective might or might not be of assistance. At present, he would let
matters stand.

As he smoked on, the room, which had been almost entirely empty of
customers, began filling up. A reporter bustled in, ordered a cup of
coffee, and, clearing away the plates and casters, squared his elbows
and attacked a roll of paper. Two belated shop-girls entered laughing,
hung their wet waterproofs on a hook behind their chairs, and were soon
lost in the intricacies of the printed menu. Groups of three and four
passed him, beating the rain from their hats and cloaks, the women
stamping their wet feet.

The sudden influx from the outside, bringing in the wet and mud of the
streets, had started innumerable puddles over the clean, sanded floor.
The man wearing the dingy white jacket craned his head, noticed the
widening pools, opened a door behind the bar leading to the cellar
below, and shouted down, in a coarse voice, "Here, Stuffy, git
busy--everything slopped up," and resumed his place beside the group
of men, their talk still centred on the stranger in the mackintosh, who
could be seen scrutinizing each new arrival.

Something in the poise and dignity of the object of their attention as
he sat quietly, paper in hand, a curl of blue smoke mounting ceilingward
from his pipe, must also have impressed the newcomers, for no one of
them drew out any of the empty chairs immediately beside him, although
the room was now comparatively crowded. Finally, the man who answered to
the name of "Stuffy" appeared from the direction of the group near the
bar, and made his way toward Felix. He carried a broom and a bucket,
from which trailed a mop used for swabbing wet floors. When he reached
O'Day's table, he dropped to his knees and attacked a sluiceway leading
to a miniature lake, fed by the umbrellas and waterproofs belonging to
the two girls opposite.

"Got to ask ye to move a little, sir," he said in apology.

"Hold on," replied Felix, in considerate tones, "I will stand up and you
can get at it better. Bad night for everybody." He was on his feet now,
his long mackintosh hanging straight, his hat still on his head, and in
his hand the blackthorn stick, which he had picked up from beside the
table as he rose.

The man stared at the mackintosh, the hat, and the cane, and sprang to
his feet. "I know ye!" he cried excitedly. "Do you know me?"

Felix studied him closely. "I do