Drawing out a chair from a table, he sat down and ran his eye over the interior. What he saw was a collection of small tables, flanked by wooden chairs, their tops covered with white cloths and surmounted by cheap casters, a long bar with the usual glistening accessories, and a flight of steps which led to the floor above. His entrance, quiet as it had been, had evidently attracted some attention, for a waiter in a once-white apron detached himself from a group of men in the far corner of the room and, picking up, as he passed, a printed card from a table, asked him what he would have to eat. “Nothing--not now. I will sit here and smoke.” He loosened his mackintosh and drew his pipe from his pocket, adding: “Hand me a match, please.” The waiter looked at him dubiously. “Ain't you goin' to order nothin'?” “Not yet--perhaps not at all. Do you object to my smoking here?” “Don't object to nothin', but this ain't no place to warm up in, see!” Felix looked at him, and a faint smile played about his lips--the first that had lightened them all day. “I shan't ask you to start a fresh fire,” he said in a decided tone; “and now, do as I bid you, and pass me that box of matches.” The man caught the tone and expression, placed the box beside him, and joined the group in the rear. There was a whispered conference, and a stout man wearing a dingy jacket disengaged himself from the others and lounged toward Felix. “Nasty night,” he began. “Had a lot of this weather this month. Never see a December like it.” “Yes, a bad night. Your servant seemed to think I was in the way. Are you the proprietor?” “Well, I am one of them. Why?” “Nothing--only I hoped to find you more hospitable.” “Oh, smoke away--guess we can stand it, if you can. Dinner's over”--he looked at the big clock decorating the white wall--“but they'll be piling in here after the theatres is out. You live around here?” “No, not immediately.” “Looking for any one?” Felix gave a slight start and, from under his narrowed lids, shot one of his bull's-eye flashes. The man caught the flash and, misinterpreting it, bent down and said in a hoarse whisper: “Come from the central office, don't you?” Felix took a long puff at his pipe. “No, I am only a very tired man who has come in out of the wet to rest and smoke,” he answered, with a dry smile, “but if it will add to your comfort and improve your hospitality in any way, you can send your waiter back here and I will order something to eat.” The stout man laid his hand confidently on Felix's shoulder. “That's all right, pard--I ain't worryin', and don't you. There's nothin' doin', and I'm a-givin' it to you straight.” Felix nodded in dismissal, rested his elbows on the table, and again puffed 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.