Next, turning from the window, I fell to examining my fellow
passengers, in the hope of seeing some one I knew. Conversation on
trains makes short journeys. . . . I sat up stiffly in my seat.
Diagonally across the aisle sat the very chap I had met in the
curio-shop! He was quietly reading a popular magazine, and
occasionally a smile lightened his sardonic mouth. Funny that I should
run across him twice in the same evening! Men who are contemplating
suicide never smile in that fashion. He was smoking a small,
well-colored meerschaum pipe with evident relish. Somehow, when a man
clenches his teeth upon the mouth-piece of a respectable pipe, it seems
impossible to associate that man with crime. But the fact that I had
seen him selecting a pistol in a pawnshop rather neutralized the good
opinion I was willing to form. I have already expressed my views upon
the subject. The sight of him rather worried me, though I could not
reason why. Whither was he bound? Had he finally taken one of
Friard's pistols? For a moment I was on the point of speaking to him,
if only to hear him tell more lies about the ten of hearts, but I
wisely put aside the temptation. Besides, it might be possible that he
would not be glad to see me. I always avoid the chance acquaintance,
unless, of course, the said chance acquaintance is met under favorable
circumstances--like the girl in Mouquin's, for instance! After all, it
was only an incident; and, but for his picking up that card, I never
should have remembered him.
Behind him sat a fellow with a countenance as red and round and
complacent as an English butler's,--red hair and small twinkling eyes.
Once he leaned over and spoke to my chance acquaintance, who, without
turning his head, thrust a match over his shoulder. The man with the
face of a butler lighted the most villainous pipe I ever beheld. I
wondered if they knew each other. But, closely as I watched, I saw no
sign from either. I turned my collar up and snuggled down. There was
no need of his seeing me.
Then my thoughts reverted to the ten of hearts again. My ten of
hearts! The wrinkle of a chill ran up and down my spine! My ten of
hearts!
Hastily I took out the card and examined the back of it. It was an
uncommonly handsome back, representing Diana, the moon, and the
midnight sky. A horrible supposition came to me: supposing they looked
at the back as well as at the face of the card? And again, supposing I
was miles away from the requisite color and design? I was staggered.
Here was a pretty fix! I had never even dreamed of such a contingency.
Hang it! I now wished I had stuck to my original plan, and gone to the
theater. Decidedly I was in for it; there was no backing down at this
late hour, unless I took the return train for Jersey City; and I
possessed too much stubbornness to surrender to any such weakness.
Either I should pass the door-committee, or I shouldn't; of one thing I
was certain-"Blankshire!" bawled the trainman; then the train slowed down and
finally came to a stop.