Covington returned to New York several days before the Gorhams left Washington. To the casual observer, who might meet him even daily, no change would have been apparent in the smoothly working accurate human machine which found its exercise through his personality. His face never showed an emotion other than that which he wished to have seen there; the mouth, that most treacherous feature, was protected by his heavy mustache, which in turn merged its identity in the dark Vandyke beard, into which all expression retreated at the command of its owner; his gray eyes, cold in the metallic steelness of their shade, penetrated the object upon which they fixed themselves, reading the characteristics of others, but yielding nothing in return. His forehead was high, accentuated by the thinness of his face, but suggestive of strong mental capacity; and the straightness of his nose evidenced the strength of will which had done much to give him his present reputation as a business man. But behind this impassive exterior much was happening. It was not so great a change as it was an expansion of something which had always existed. Covington had made his mark before Gorham discovered him. The older man's attention had been attracted to him by the chain he had developed of over six hundred separate retail stores, all dealing in the same commodities and each one an individual business success. Gorham watched him post his sentries at different street corners in the city he was testing to determine the density of the traffic, finally selecting the location where the crowd passed most steadily all day. "I am never fooled by the noon-hour crowd," Covington confided to him; "they spend all their time eating lunch. I always keep away from streets where there are banks--after three o'clock in the afternoon you'll find as much retail business in the morgue."