Prominent among the regular houses of entertainment was the Cabaret Noir, which, between the hours of 9 p.m. and 1 a.m., usually drove a roaring trade. Situated in the heart of a mountebank district, its patrons embraced all classes of society, from the American tourist with his quick eyes noting the vagaries of demi-mondaines, to the sharp-witted Parisian idler, on the alert for any easy and dishonest method of obtaining money which might present itself. Among such a crowd a wine-sodden and decrepit old man was not likely to attract particular attention. He sprawled over the table close to one of the windows which commanded a view of the side passage leading to the rear of the building. Although none of the noisy crowd in the café could suspect the fact, the half-closed eyes of this elderly drunkard noted the form and features of every individual who entered or left by the main door, whilst at the same time he paid the utmost possible attention to the comings and goings of any person who used the passage by the window. To facilitate his observations in this direction he querulously complained to the waiter that the atmosphere was stuffy, and prevailed on the man to raise the window a few inches, thus admitting a breath of clear cold air. Brett had previously ascertained from his agent that Gros Jean and his daughter were still in the private part of the building. No other visitor had put in an appearance, and so the time passed, until the clock in the café marked eleven, without any incident occurring which could be construed as having even a remote bearing upon his quest. Brett began to feel that his diligence that night would not be rewarded. At five minutes past eleven, however, a pink-and-white Frenchman, neatly attired, unobtrusive both in manner and deportment, entered the café and seated himself quietly near the door. He ordered some coffee and cognac, and lighted a cigarette. The barrister, of course, took heed of him as of all others, and he would soon have placed him in the general category that merited no special attention had he not noticed that the newcomer more than once glanced at the clock and then towards the corner bar, whence, it will be remembered, a small door led towards the billiard saloon in which La Belle Chasseuse had displayed her prowess with the pistol. In such a community the stranger's self-possession and reticence were distinguishable characteristics. So Brett watched him, largely for want of better occupation.