Two were playing checkers, the others crowded about a square table where a game of cards was in progress; wavy lines of tobacco smoke floated beneath the dingy ceiling; at one end was a small bar where a man in a woollen shirt was filling some short, thick tumblers from an earthen jug.

It was the ordinary sailors' retreat where the men put up before, between, and after their voyages.
One of them at the card-table looked up from his game as Harry entered, and called out: "Man been lookin' for you--comin' back, he says.

My trick! Hearts, wasn't it ?" (this to his companions).
"Do I know him ?" asked Harry with a slight start, pausing on his way to his bedroom upstairs, where he had left his bag of clothes two hours before.

Could he have been recognized and shadowed?
"No--don't think so; he's a street vendor.

Got some China silks to sell--carries his pack on his back and looks as if he'd took up a extry 'ole in his belt.