"Not to me," said Frank, aggressive at once, in spite of the charming sister. "I don't want to have anything to do with him." "Ah, pistols and coffee for two is your idea of a meeting," was the Captain's reply. "You'd like to see him buzz into the everlasting darkness, I guess?" Before Frank could reply, his arm was plucked. In the crowd he did not see who it was for the moment. There was a rush of thirsty souls to the bar, and Berry disappeared in the mob. Still the unknown kept his hand on Lancaster's arm, and drew him towards the door with a gentle pressure. Rather surprised, Frank allowed himself to be so drawn, thinking it was one of his friends. But when the crowd grew thin he found himself face to face with the small, neat man. "Well?" said Frank, interrogatively. "I'm glad you didn't answer," said the man with the light eyes. "It is dangerous to answer that man." "Captain Berry. Why?" The stranger opened the swing door and stepped into the street. He did not even wait for Frank, but walked along the pavement, dexterously avoiding the people as he walked. Taken by surprise by this odd demeanour, Lancaster followed, and managed to catch up with the man as he was turning into a side street which was deserted. "What do you mean?" asked Lancaster, catching the man by his coat. "Who are you?" The other stopped under a lamp-post, and laughed in an elfish way. "No matter who I am," he said in a precise voice, "but what I am is another and more important matter." "Well, what are you?" asked Lancaster, more and more puzzled. "A man who can read faces and hands and tell the secrets of the future," said the other, gravely. "Bah!" was Frank's disgusted exclamation. "A charlatan." "Just so. A charlatan. Yet I am sufficiently interested in you to warn you against coming danger." "Do you know me?" "No. I don't know your name or your face, nor anything about you. I happened to be in the bar when you hit that red-headed man, and I saw that the little fellow--" "Captain Berry?" "Is that his name? Well, he was trying to foment the quarrel. He is your enemy." "Nonsense! He has no cause to be my enemy." "That is the worst kind of enemy to have--one who pretends friendship and strikes in the dark. I read your face, sir, and the face of the red-headed man. If you two meet again--" He hesitated. "Well?" asked Frank, sharply. "If we meet?" "One of you will die." In spite of his scepticism Lancaster felt a chill run through his veins at this speech. "Rubbish!" he said, roughly. "Which one?" "I sha'n't tell you that," replied the unknown. "You may consider my reply rubbish also. But there is that in your face, sir, which hints at coming trouble. Your fate and the fate of the red-headed man are bound up together. Also, there is a woman." "How do you know that?" asked Frank, thinking of Fan.