Having been in the city before, he was well acquainted with localities, and therefore was able to direct his steps at once to that quarter where he felt he was most likely to meet the man he was in quest of.
He entered a low drinking-saloon, and ordered a glass of liquor, partly to gratify his taste, partly that while drinking he might have leisure to look about him.
It was a low, square room, dark and unsightly, frequented evidently by the lowest ranks only. At this time there was but one man present besides Randall.
This man was tall, low-browed, with shaggy black eyebrows, and a face on which villainy was stamped in Nature's plainest and most ineffaceable characters.
"There's a man," thought the mate, "that will serve my turn, and, to judge from his looks, will be troubled by no unnecessary scruples on the subject."
Meanwhile, the other, lifting his eyes from the glass, had observed his close scrutiny, and chose to take offence at it. He rose from his seat, and, advancing towards Randall, observed, in a menacing tone, "It appears to me, señor, that you are impertinent."
Randall understood the language in which this was spoken, and coolly inquired, "How so?"
"You have been staring at me as if you had some particular object in it."
"So I have," returned the mate, in the same tone as before.