"Let me see," mused the other, "this is the Wellington, number two hundred and—Lord, this is the place."
His dark face paled suddenly.
"My name is O'Rourke," remarked the big man with the pipe.
"And mine is Ellis," said the other.
They eyed each other squarely for several seconds.
"I have heard of you," said O'Rourke, in modulated tones. But all the while the blood was singing in his ears, and splashing wisps of light crossed his eyes.
"And I of you," replied Ellis, quietly. He had not yet regained his colour. O'Rourke, outwardly calm, turned in his chair and searched among the papers on the table. He found a leather cigar-case, opened it, and extended it to his visitor.
"Try one of these. We like them immensely," he said.
Now the red surged into Ellis's face, and he hesitated to receive the cigar.
"Don't you know—how I have treated you?" he whispered.