"It was in the crowd at Madison Square where I saw you," the stranger went on, as if eager to remind Mason of the fact. "You were listening to the speakers."
"Yes, I remember going there," Mason said, taking out a box of cigarettes. "Do you happen to have a match about you?"
The man fished one from a vest pocket with fingers which seemed to quiver slightly, and there was no doubt as to the look of suspended excitement in his mild eyes. Mason decided that he would not offer him a cigarette. "I think I recall seeing you there," he remarked. "In fact, as you passed me just now your face seemed familiar. You say you are a stranger in the city?"
"Yes, I only come here once in a while."
Silence fell. A lame Italian was playing a wheezy hand-organ at the end of the walk, and a group of ill-clad children were dancing near by. Charles wondered what his companion would do if he suddenly got up and left. Would he then declare himself in his official capacity or dog his steps as formerly? Mason somehow wanted the thing settled for good and all. How could he sleep or have any peace of mind with an uncertainty like that hanging over him?
"I think I may venture to be plain with you, sir," the stranger broke the silence to say. "The day I saw you you were in the company of a—a young man that I desire very much to meet."
"Oh, let me see," and Mason deliberately flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Who was I with that day? I ran with several chaps about that time."
The stranger described Charles accurately, and all but held his breath as he waited.
"Oh, that fellow!" Mason exclaimed, carelessly. "He was a stranger to me. I met him by accident at the house I roomed at. So you want to meet him?"
"Yes, very much. He is an old friend of mine."