One afternoon their steps inclined to the well remembered square with the tall column and heroic statue of bronze. In the door of a shop bearing the symbol of a silversmith, the proprietor happened to be standing when the boys strolled by.
This tradesman, at the time without trade, suddenly changed from sleepy attitude to one of alert anticipation after second view of the strollers. Under a skull cap of silk gleamed a pair of keen, blue eyes, and the smooth-shaven face of the man was alight with a half-smile of recognition.
He lifted his right hand with a peculiar gesture, the thumb folded into the palm.
Billy, idly glancing at the performer, remarked:
“That fellow wants to sell you a dinner set of fifty pieces, Buddy.”
“That hole in the wall wouldn’t hold half of it,” joked Henri.
The tradesman seemed puzzled at the lack of response to his thumb signal, but he was evidently determined to have a word with the boys.
With a low bow he stepped to the middle of the sidewalk, as if soliciting custom, and in English, with peculiar accent, softly mentioned a familiar term—Two Towers!
Billy started as if a torpedo had exploded underfoot.
“Where have I seen that face before?”