CHAPTER III
Norton rather regretted his hasty choice of taverns. The "Steuben Arms" had in its day been a fine inn, but its day was done. Located conveniently to Shippingsport, its clientele now consisted largely of rivermen, merchants, and such of the townsmen as found its rates better suited to their purses than those of the new taverns.
Passing through the deserted travellers' room, Ayres led his guest on into the public dining-room, where the long table was already partially filled. At the upper end sat Bower, the host—a feeble old man with tobacco-stained beard. The overhead fans were pulled by a negro girl in the corner.
Ayres settled down in a chair at an unoccupied space, Norton following suit. Then, when the little man had nodded to Bower and signed to a negro waiter, he turned and spoke in a low voice.
"Now, Mr. Norton, had you any definite plan of action? ... Until the table fills up, we will pass unnoticed."
Norton nodded, glancing around. A number of rivermen were talking loudly; two or three merchants were discussing prices—and profanity hung over the long room like a cloud.
"Well," he returned slowly, "I thought that a boat might be well laden here, quietly pick up a force of men farther down the river, and so be used as a lure. With such a spy system as seems to prevail, however, that looks rather hopeless."
Ayres nodded.
"A good plan, sir, a good plan, yet doubtful of success. As you say, the people in question would hear of it and you would be laughed at for your pains. The case, sir, calls for circumspection."