"Hello, John Aldous," he said.
"Good evening, Culver Rann," replied Aldous.
For a moment his nerves had tingled—the next they were like steel. Culver Rann's teeth gleamed. Aldous smiled back. They were cold, hard, rapierlike glances. Each understood now that the other was a deadly enemy, for Quade's enemies were also Culver Rann's. Aldous moved carelessly to the glass case in which were the cigars. With the barest touch of one of his slim white hands Culver Rann stopped him.
"Have one of mine, Aldous," he invited, opening a silver case filled with cigars. "We've never had the pleasure of smoking together, you know."
"Never," said Aldous, accepting one of the cigars. "Thanks."
As he lighted it, their eyes met again. Aldous turned to the case.
"Half a dozen 'Noblemen,'" he said to the man behind the counter; then, to Rann: "Will you have one on me?"
"With pleasure," said Rann. He added, smiling straight into the other's eyes, "What are you doing up here, Aldous? After local colour?"
"Perhaps. The place interests me."
"It's a lively town."