"That's a good 'un, matey!" cried the sailor. "But I arn't got one to match it, stow the luck!"
The storyteller's last chuckles had subsided and he had drained his glass to the dregs, when suddenly a man entered the place and thrust himself into the group that sat around the table. This newcomer was of a different class from the others. He was tall, square, handsome, and his air and clothes and manner betokened one of the better classes. The genial storyteller set down his glass, grinned once more at the English sailor, and then following the sailor's glance, looked up at the stranger. He found the stranger was glancing down at him with an intentness that was disconcerting, to say the least.
The stranger slowly extended his hand toward the group, his forefinger levelling itself in the direction of the genial storyteller.
"I want to talk to you," he said.
The man at whom he pointed faltered for an instant. His first instinct was to give the signal and get his cronies to bear down upon this stranger and throw him to the ground.
The stranger—who was no other than Leech, an Assistant District Attorney of the County of New York, who had become famous chiefly as the lawyer who had sent Peter V. Wilkinson up for a ten-years' term—saw the look, interpreted it correctly, but he only laughed in the man's face.
"There are three of my men outside," he whispered, bending down, and then straightened up once more. "Where can we talk?" he asked.
The other man lumbered to his feet and bowed awkwardly, saying:
"Excuse me, gents."
At the foot of the stairs that opened near the street, Leech held the other in conversation for an instant—just long enough to permit three men without to see his man. None of the three knew who he was, but all knew that they should know him at any future time.