Before this conversation had concluded, and long before the specified five games were accomplished, half a dozen persons from the hotel, male and female, came strolling in. Among them was Captain Hector Coles, with Margaret Hayley upon his arm. They stood at the head of the alley, looking at the game; and Townsend, as he was about to make one of his most difficult rolls, recognized the lady and her slight nod and was sufficiently agitated by the presence of that peculiar spectator, to miss his aim entirely and roll the ball off into the gutter--a fact which did not escape the quick eye of the Captain. Directly, as the game still went on, some conversation occurred between the lady and her attendant, which, if overheard, might have produced a still more decided trembling in the nerves of the ten-pin player. "I _know_ that I have seen that face before, more than once, and not in Cincinnati," the Captain said. "I believe that he is a Philadelphian, and that his name is no more Horace Townsend than mine is Jenkins." "What motive could any one possibly have for coming to a place like this in disguise and with a feigned name?" asked Margaret Hayley. "Humph!" said the Captain, in a tone by no means good-humored, though it was low, as the previous words had been, "there are plenty of men who find it necessary to disguise names and faces now-a-days, for the very best of reasons." "Traitors?" asked the lady. "Yes, traitors!" answered the Captain. "And _that_ reason he has not, I know!" said Margaret. "The man who uttered the words that _I_ heard last night, is no traitor, and I do not think that I should believe the very angels of heaven if they should come down to make the assertion!" "You seem strangely interested in the man!" said the Captain, his voice undeniably querulous. "And I have a right to be so if I choose, I suppose!" answered the lady, in a voice that if it was not querulous was at least signally decided. "Oh, certainly! certainly!" was the reply, coming out between set teeth. Silence fell for a moment thereafter, except as the crashing balls made music among the pins. Then it was interrupted by Rowan calling out to the lawyer, who seemed to stand abstracted and forgetful of the game. "Townsend!" No motion on the part of the person addressed, or any sign that he heard the utterance. "Townsend! I say, Townsend!" Still no motion, or any recognition whatever of the name; and it was not until the Illinoisan, who had just been making three ten-strikes in succession with his left hand, and who was naturally anxious to call the attention of his opponent to the exploit, touched him on the shoulder and literally shouted the word into his ear, that he paid any attention whatever. "Me? Oh!"