It was a gross-looking fellow, well-groomed and oily. His fat hands were manicured and he was overdressed. He gave the impression that money was no longer an object. As if to corroborate this, he had been winning heavily. I decided that he was a bookmaker.
While I was staring, Adèle moved to speak with a friend.
"And who," said a quiet voice, "is attracting such faithful attention?"
It was the Spaniard.
"You see that fat cove?" I whispered. "He did us out of a house to-day. Overbid us, you know."
My companion smiled.
"No worse than that?" he murmured. "You must count yourselves lucky."
I raised my eyebrows.
"You know him?"
The other nodded.