Page:Guy Boothby--A Bid for Fortune.djvu/54

44 cleaner appearance than any other I had as yet experienced.

Pushing the door open I entered. An unmistakable Frenchman, whose appearance, however, betokened long residence in England, stood behind a narrow counter polishing an absinthe glass. He bowed politely and asked my business.

"Have you a lunching-room?" I asked.

"Oui, Monsieur! Cer-tain-lee. If Monsieur will walk upstairs I will take his order!"

Waving his hand in the direction of a staircase in the corner of the shop he again bowed elaborately, and, following the direction he indicated, I proceeded to the room above. It was long and lofty, commanded an excellent view of both thoroughfares, and was furnished with a few inferior pictures, a much worn oilcloth, half-a-dozen small marble-topped tables, and four times as many chairs.

When I entered three men were in occupation. Two were playing chess at a side table, while a third, who had evidently no connection with them, was watching the game from a distance, pretending at the same time to be absorbed in his paper. Seating myself at a table near the door, I examined the bill of fare, selected my lunch, and then, to amuse myself while it was preparing, fell to scrutinising my companions.

Of the chess-players, one was a big, burly fellow, with enormous arms, protruding rheumy eyes, a florid complexion, and a voluminous red beard. His opponent was of a much smaller build, with pale features, a tiny moustache, and watery blue eyes. He wore a pince-nez, and from the length of his hair and a dab of crimson lake upon his shirt cuff, I argued him an artist.

Leaving the chess players, my eyes lighted on the