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Reitzei was in the chambers--at Lind's table, in fact. He was a man of
about twenty-eight or thirty, slim and dark, with a perfectly pallid
face, a small black mustache carefully waxed, and an affectedly
courteous smile. He wore a _pince-nez_; was fond of slang, to show his
familiarity with English; and aimed at an English manner, too. He seemed
bored. He regarded this man whom Brand introduced to him without
surprise, with indifference.
"Hear what this fellow has to say," Brand said, "will you? and give him
distinctly to understand that if he tries again to see Miss Lind, I will
break his head for him. What idiot could have given him Lind's private
address?"
The man was standing near the door, stolid apparently, but with his
small eyes keenly watching. Reitzei said a word or two to him. Instantly
he went--he almost sprung--forward; and this movement was so unexpected
that the equanimity of the pallid young man received a visible shock,
and he hastily drew out a drawer a few inches. Brand caught sight of the
handle of a revolver.


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