"Señor," said Lazaro, "I know it is impolite to turn to look behind one, but sitting at the third table back of you is a tall, thin man with a prominent nose, and I am certain I have met him somewhere, but I cannot recall his name. If you could get a look at him without too much trouble——"
Watson Scott was not given to great stiffness anywhere. He drew his feet from beneath the table, placed them at one side of his chair and half turned on the seat, looking round at the man indicated by Lazaro.
As Old Gripper did this the Mexican leaned far over the table and reached out his hand as if to touch his companion on the elbow. Instead of doing this, he seemed to change his mind; but his hand swept over the small cup of black coffee that stood in front of the other man, and something fell into that cup.
"That is Henry Babcock, of the Cuban Plantation Supply Company," explained Scott, turning back.
"Then I was mistaken," said the Mexican. "I have never met the gentleman."
They sipped their coffee, Lazaro continuing talking.
Scott emptied his cup.
"I've had a hard day, but that will keep me awake for the next four hours," he remarked. "I'm going to the theatre with a party of friends to-night, and I don't want to nod over the old play."
After a brief time a vexed look came to his rugged face, and he swept his hand across his eyes.