“What’s the matter?”
“The two gentlemen who came in just now.... Look at the taller one ... now, when we go out, keep to my left, so he will not see me.”
“The one who is sitting behind you?”
“Yes. I will explain it to you, outside.”
“Who is it?”
“Herlock Sholmes.”
He made a desperate effort to control himself, as if he were ashamed of his emotion, replaced his napkin, drank a glass of water, and, quite recovered, said to me, smiling:
“It is strange, hein, that I should be affected so easily, but that unexpected sight—”
“What have you to fear, since no one can recognize you, on account of your many transformations? Every time I see you it seems to me your face is changed; it’s not at all familiar. I don’t know why.”
“But he would recognize me,” said Lupin. “He has seen me only once; but, at that time, he made a mental photograph of me—not of my external appearance but of my very soul—not what I appear to be but just what I am. Do you understand? And then ... and then.... I did not expect to meet him here.... Such a strange encounter!... in this little restaurant....”