In an instant he knew that the man was Matt Lunn. A thin, audacious smile hovered about the Phantom’s lips as recognition flashed through his mind. For a moment he hesitated, casting a swift glance to the corner where Granger stood; then he crossed the sidewalk and resolutely pushed the door open.
A minute or two later, in a cheap, all-night lunchroom a block down the street, someone was impatiently jigging the hook of a telephone.
CHAPTER XXIV—THE FACE IN THE LIMOUSINE
Twelve or more pairs of eyes looked up as the Phantom walked into the coffee house. They gave the newcomer a long, stony stare, followed his brisk progress across the floor to a table in the rear, then looked down again into coffee cups and pipe bowls, as if the new arrival had been completely forgotten.
With a view to obtaining an unobstructed view of Matt Lunn’s face, the Phantom had chosen his position carefully. He wished to study the man before he approached him. A glance told him that Granger’s description had been apt but incomplete. He was a wicked-looking creature, with coffee-brown complexion, eyes that were as hard and emotionless as bits of colored porcelain, and thick, coarse lips that were fixed in a perpetual sneer and gave him a look of sullen ferocity that was set off strikingly by the scar over his eye.
The Phantom noted these details and made his deductions while he gave his order to a gaunt, hunchbacked waiter. So far Lunn, who sat alone across an aisle between the tables, had not even looked in his direction and seemed totally unaware of his presence. The others, too, appeared to be ignoring him, but furtive glances and an occasional whisper warned the Phantom that he was under surveillance.
He sipped a little of the coffee that was brought him, shoved the cup aside and strolled across the aisle, seating himself opposite the man with the scar.
“Hello, Lunn,” he said easily, imitating Granger’s manner of speech. It was a convenient opening, even if he should not be able to deceive the man in regard to his identity.
Slowly the other lifted his flinty eyes, fixing a vacuous stare on the Phantom’s face, and pulled hard at his pipe. “Hullo, yourself,” was his gruff response.
“A bit grouchy to-night, Lunn?” bantered the Phantom, resuming his study of the man at closer range and confirming his previous suspicion that Matt Lunn was a bully with a coward’s heart. A cranning of necks and lowering glances signified that the rest of the men in the room were following the conversation.