There was no one in the bar, and Mr. Starling, rendered by his early training and the influence of circumstances suspicious by anything out of the common, crept back on tiptoe into the street, and peeped through the crack of the window which was formed by the uplifting of the curtain.
There he saw that the usual number of the gentlemen was reinforced by a little old man, whom he seemed to recollect as having seen somewhere before.
He commenced whistling "Villikins and His Dinah," and re-entered the bar.
His quick ears detected the unslipping of the bolt, and he pushed open the door without any difficulty.
All the men had suddenly assumed an air of the usual indifference and sleepiness, and responded to his cheerful salutation after their various kinds.
"Bring me a pint of the very best, Miss Polly," said Mr. Starling, sinking into his seat, and eying from under his frowning eyelids the strange little man.
"A nice night for salamanders, mates."
"Yes," said Willie Sanderson, "it's mighty hot."
"No fish?" asked Jem.