He was no coward, but he gave a little shudder as he examined the thing, and felt its blueish steel edge with his finger. It was by no means a toy weapon; it had been fashioned and meant for use. What use? Somehow he felt that he had escaped a very great danger, as he put the thing thoughtfully into his pocket, and leaned back in his chair. The shrill voices and clatter of glasses around him sounded curiously unreal in his ears.
By degrees he came to himself, and leaning forward took a match from the little marble table, and re-lit his cigar. Then, for the first time, he noticed with a start, that the chair opposite to him was occupied, occupied, too, by a figure which was perfectly familiar. It was the Sicilian who sat there, quietly smoking a long cigarette, and with his face shaded by the open palm of his hand.
Lord St. Maurice made no sign of recognition. On the contrary, he turned his head away, preferring not to be seen. His nerves were already highly strung, and there seemed to him to be something ominous in this second meeting with the Sicilian. If he could have been sure of being able to do so unnoticed, he would have got up and gone into the hotel.
"Good-evening, Signor!"
Lord St. Maurice turned and looked into the white, corpse-like face of the Sicilian. It told its own story. There was trouble to come.
"Good-evening, Signor," he answered quietly.
The Sicilian leaned over the table. There were gray rims under his eyes, and even his lips had lost their color.
"A week ago, Signor," he remarked, "we occupied these same seats here."
"I remember it," Lord St. Maurice replied quietly.
"It is well. It is of the events which have followed that night that I desire to speak, if you, Signor, will grant me a few moments of your time?"