The Watertown weekly leader. [volume] (Watertown, Jefferson County, Wis.) 1912-1917, 1916-02-01
CHAPTER Il-Continued.

CHAPTER Il-Continued.
However impulsively, he hadn't
sought Troyons without definite in
tent, to wit, to gain some clue, how
ever slender, to the mystery Of that
wretched child, Marcel. But now it
appeared he had procrastinated IA
tally-time and change had left little
other than the shell of the Troyon's
he remembered. Papa Troyon was
gone; madame no longer occupied the
desk of the caisse; inquiries, SO dis
creetly worded as to be uncompro-
missing elected from the maitre d'ho-
tel the information that the house had
been under new management these
eighteen months; the old proprietor
was dead, and his widow had sold out
lock, stock and barrel, and retired to
the country, it was not known ex-
actly where. And with the new ad-
tions and furnishings and a complete
change of personnel-not even one Of
the old walters remained.
All are gone, the old, familiar
faces" Lanyard quoted in vindictive
melancholy-"damn 'emi"
Happily it was demonstrated that
the cuisine was being maintained on
its erstwhile plane of excellence-one
still had that comforts
Other Impressions less intimate,
proved puzzling, disconcerting and
paradoxically reassuring.
Lanyard commanded a fair view of
Roddy across the waist of the room.
The detective had ordered meal that
matched his aspect well, both of true
British simplicity He was a square
set man with a square jaw, cold blue
eyes, a fat nose, a thin-lpped trap of
a mouth, a face as red as rare beef
steak
His dinner comprised a cut from
the joint, boiled potatoes, brussels
sprouts, a bit of cheese. a bottle of
Bass He ate slowly, chewing with
the doggedness of a strong character
hampered by a weak digestion, and
all the while kept his eyes fixed to an
issue of the Paris edition of the Lon
don Daily Mail with an effect of con-
centration quite too convincing.
Now one doesn't read the Paris edi-
ton OF the London Daily Mail with in
tense excitement. Humanity speaking,
it can't be done.
Where, then. was the object of this
so sedulously dissembled interest?
,Io 10 ro1x hi
riddle to his satisfaction-in so far
that is, as it was satisfactory to feel
yet more certain that Roddy's quarry
was another than himself.
Despite the lateness of the hour,
which had by now turned ten o'clock
the restaurant had still dozen tables
or so in the service of guests pleas
antly engaged in frightening out an
agreeable evening with dessert, coffee
liqueurs and cigarettes. The majority
of these were in couples, but at table
one removed from Roddy's sat a party
of three; and Lanyard noticed, or
fancied, that the man from Scotland
Yard turned his newspaper only dur
ing 1ulls in the conversation in this
quarter
OF the three, one would pass for an
American of position and wealth-a
man of something more than sixty
years, with an eXecrable accent, a
racling cough, and a thin, patriciar
cast of countenance clouded darkly by
the expression of a soul in torment
furrowed, scanned, twisted-a mask OF
mortal anguish. And once, when he
looked up and casually encountered
Lanyard's gaze. the adventurer was
shocked to find himself staring into
eyes that were as the eyes of a dead
man-eyes of gray so light that at
little distance the color of the iris
blended indistinguishably with their
whites, leaving visible only the round
black points of pupils abnormally dis
tended and staring, blank, fixed, pas
sionless, beneath lashless lids.
For the instant they seemed to ex.
plore Lanyard's very soul with a look
of remote and impersonal curiosity;
then they fell away, and when next
the adventurer looked the man had
turned to attend to some observation
of one of his companions with a
smile that fairly TRANSPORTED his face
the smile of a charming child.
On his right sat girl who might
be his daughter, for not only was she
too, obviously American, but she was
far too young to be the others wife
A demure, old-fashioned type, well
poised but unassuming, fetchingly
gowned, and with sufficient individu
ality of taste, but not conspicuously
a girl with soft, brown hair and soft
brown eyes; pretty, not extravagantly
so when her face was in repose. but
with a slow smile that made her
scarcely less than beautiful-in ali
Lanyard thought, the kind of woman
who is predestined to comfort man
kind, whose strongest instinct is the
maternal
She took little part in the CONVEX
sation. seldom interrupted what was