The other looked up from the poulet rôti aux pommes de terre and salade Bruxelloise which had been engaging his attention. He was plainly one of the convention from the outlying State, if physique could be taken as a guide. He spread upwards from the table like a circus giant and the hands which gripped the knife and fork had that same spaciousness which George had noted in the diners in the other room. Only as to the eyes did this man differ from his fellows. They had had eyes of a peculiarly steely and unfriendly type, the sort of eyes which a motorist instinctively associates with traffic-policemen and a professional thief with professional detectives. This man's gaze was mild and friendly, and his eyes would have been attractive but for the redness of their rims and the generally inflamed look which they had.
"By no means, sir," he replied to George's polite query.
"Place very crowded to-night."
"Extremely."
"Then, if you won't mind, I'll sit here."
"Delighted," said the other.
George looked round for a waiter and found one at his elbow. However crowded the Purple Chicken might be, its staff never neglected the old habitué: and it had had the benefit of George's regular custom for many months.
"Good evening, sare," said the waiter, smiling the smile which had once broken hearts in Assisi.
"Good evening, Guiseppe," said George. "I'll take the dinner."
"Yes, sare. Sick or glear zoop?"