A well-built, distinguished-looking man, attractive aside from a habitual sinister squint, was seated next to Miss Barclay. He was close upon fifty and his hair was streaked with gray. There was a bruise on his brow, partly hidden by a treatment of paint and powder. He was the victim of the recent assault by unknown thugs--Captain Casper Dillon. Next to him sat a massive, powerful man, with a large head and a profuse growth of tawny hair and beard, giving him a leonine aspect. Obviously, he was a foreigner, as was a corpulent, showily dressed woman seated opposite. Another was the government engineer, Garland, looking drawn and white, in spite of his efforts to appear congenial; while next to him was seated a slender, graceful woman of almost dazzling beauty and brilliancy, her sinuous figure ravishingly clad and her abundance of auburn hair fairly ablaze with costly gems. “H’m, just so,” thought Nick, furtively gazing. “Verona Warren, eh? Wonderful eyes, an irresistible smile, a mouth like a rosebud, and a matchless complexion--but not all her own. She is a skillful woman who, at thirty-five, can strip off enough years to appear like a debutante. Lost his head to Madame Irma Valaska, eh? I thought I might be right--and now I know it.” Ten minutes passed. None of the group in the alcove had an eye for the solitary man seated near one of the windows, apparently absorbed in his wine and lunch. Only one among them would have recognized him. Not Garland, however, for Garland had seen him only in disguise that afternoon. Nick could occasionally catch a few words uttered more vivaciously than others, but none were of special significance. He saw Stella Barclay frowning at times upon Garland, however, and finally heard her inquire: “What on earth, Harry, has come over you? You’re as dumb as an oyster, and dreadfully white.” “Pardon!” Garland exclaimed, brightening quickly. “I did not realize it, Miss Barclay.” “I have noticed it all evening. You are not ill, are you?” “No, indeed.” “Miss Barclay is right,” said Captain Dillon, with a squint from one to the other. “I have noticed it. One would think, Garland, that you have lost your best friend.” “My best friend is here,” smiled Garland, glancing at the woman beside him. “I have not lost her, I hope”. She laid her hand on his and bent nearer to him. The others laughed and Captain Dillon gazed, turning slightly from his companions, for the first time on face of the detective. He started perceptibly and lost color for a moment. Nick pretended to see him at the same moment. He bowed and smiled, touching his lips with one finger at the same time, and glancing significantly at the chair opposite his own. Captain Dillon nodded slightly, and a few moments later he excused himself, remarking to his companions: “There is an old friend of mine. I want just a word with him.” They glanced at Nick, but none knew him by sight, and the incident was entirely conventional.