"Oh, it is you, Jean," he said, after peering intently at the lads' guide. "Come in."
He threw the door open wider.
"Yes, it is I," said the Apache, "and with me two friends."
"If they are friends of yours they are welcome," said the man inside.
The three entered the room together and the man who had opened the door immediately re-bolted and re-barred it.
Inside Hal and Chester looked quickly about, but still not so as to give an impression of undue curiosity. The room was perfectly bare, except for a single large table and probably fifty old wooden chairs, which were scattered about without regard to order. At the far end of the room there was another door, but except for this there was no means of egress.
In various parts of the room sat perhaps a dozen men, all of evil visage, their hats pulled low over their eyes, cigarettes protruding from their lips at a drooping angle. They paid no heed to the entrance of Jean, Hal and Chester, although, from under their hats, they eyed them keenly.
Jean turned to the man who had admitted them and introduced the two lads with a flourish of his right hand.
"These, Georges," he said, "are my friends, Hugo Choteau and Victor
Doubet, who, but a few moments since, saved me from death."
Georges' only reply was a grunt. Plainly he was little interested in the newcomers, as long as they were vouched for by Jean, and he showed no interest in Jean's recent escape from death. Apparently this was no novelty. He resumed his seat at the table, and putting up his feet and drawing his hat even farther over his face, lighted a cigarette and settled himself in comfort and closed his eyes.