They crossed the street and entered the coffee house. Each had a cutlass hanging from his belt, and their foreign air at once attracted the attention of the people in the place. But they sought out a small table at the far end of the room and seating themselves quietly ordered and sipped their coffee and nibbled at the white rolls that were brought with it. “A very respectable looking place,” said Longsword as his eyes roved about, examining its patrons. “Yes,” answered Ethan. “And the coffee is excellent.” As they talked in low tones upon various topics, the door opened and three men entered the room. One of them was queerly huddled up in a huge cloak; the others were lowering looking fellows, apparently of the class of cut-purses or bravos which infested the city at that time. They took seats at a side table near the door. “There are three bla’guards, or I never saw any,” declared Longsword to Ethan as he looked at the newcomers. “Sure and ye can see villainy written all over them.” “They are not very prepossessing looking persons at all events,” admitted Ethan. He went on sipping his coffee for a time and then leaning toward his companion he said in a low tone, “They are watching us.” “No!” exclaimed Longsword, glaring at the trio. “Don’t stare so at them. Yes; it’s true. The man in the cloak seems to be some one in authority; he pointed us out as soon as they came in; they have been furtively eyeing us ever since.” “I wonder why?” said Longsword, puzzled. “I couldn’t say. Perhaps because we are Americans. I’ve noticed that that causes the French people to stare always, as we pass along the street.” The young American and his companion watched the three closely while pretending to inspect the room. The conversation of the men was carried on in a very low tone; their gestures were guarded; their whole manner was secret; and while they ate sparingly of the food placed before them they never took their eyes, so it seemed, from Ethan and Longsword. While deep in the observation of all this Ethan was surprised to hear a quiet voice say, almost in his ear: “Our friends by the door seem like most peculiar people.” Ethan turned quickly, for the voice had a strangely familiar sound; and to his great astonishment he found himself looking into the smiling face of Monsieur Fochard. Longsword was equally astonished; the language was French and so of course he did not understand what the man said; but he recognized the features of the secret agent instantly. The man saw this and smiled and nodded. “I had not thought,” said he to Ethan, “to see you again so soon. I fancied, monsieur, that you would be at St. Mary’s Isle, awaiting the coming of Siki, the Lascar.” Ethan fancied that he detected a chuckle in the man’s voice--a chuckle of intense satisfaction. But he made no reply and the agent went on: