"Damn this smoke," said David Dawlish, gruffly. "It's got in my eyes again."
"You're a liar, David," grunted Sir Hubert. "And a sentimental old fool besides. So am I."
II — "An Arrow at a Venture"
I
For the twentieth time the Man went through the whole wretched business again, in his mind. To the casual diner at the Milan, he was just an ordinary well-groomed Englishman, feeding by himself, and if he ate a little wearily, and there was a gleam of something more than sadness in the deep-set eyes, it was not sufficiently noticeable to attract attention.
"Monsieur finds everything to his satisfaction?" The head-waiter paused by the table, and the Man glanced up at him. A smile flickered round his mouth as the irony of the question struck home, and, almost unconsciously, his hand touched the letter in his coat pocket.
"Everything, thank you," he answered, gravely. "Everything, François, except the whole infernal universe."
The head-waiter shook his head sympathetically.
"I regret, Monsieur Lethbridge, that our kitchen is not large enough to keep that on the bill of fare."
"Otherwise you'd cook it to a turn and make even it palatable," said Lethbridge, bitterly. "No, it's beyond you, François; and, at the moment, it looks as if it was beyond me. Tell 'em to bring me a half bottle of the same, will you?"