No countenance present, as revealed in the dim light of the few swinging lamps, appeared familiar, and satisfied that he remained unknown, Keith began devoting his attention to the dishes before him, mentally expressing his opinion as to their attractiveness.
Chancing finally to again lift his eyes, he met the gaze of a man sitting directly opposite, a man who somehow did not seem exactly in harmony with his surroundings.

He was short and stockily built, with round rosy face, and a perfect shock of wiry hair brushed back from a broad forehead; his nose wide but stubby, and chin massive.

Apparently he was between forty and fifty years of age, exceedingly well dressed, his gray eyes shrewd and full of a grim humor.

Keith observed all this in a glance, becoming aware at the same time that his neighbor was apparently studying him also.

The latter broke silence with a quick, jerky utterance, which seemed to peculiarly fit his personal appearance.
"Damn it all--know you, sir--sure I do--but for life of me can't tell where." Keith stared across at him more searchingly, and replied, rather indifferently: "Probably a mistake then, as I have no recollection of your face." "Never make a mistake, sir--never forget a face," the other snapped with some show of indignation, his hands now clasped on the table, one stubby forefinger pointed, as he leaned forward.