A pair of hanging lamps lighted the room into which he rose,--a low, gloomy loft, devoid of comfort.

At the nearer table, a weazened little man bent eagerly over a pictorial paper; at the farther, chalking their cues, stood two players, one a sturdy Englishman with a gray moustache, the other a lithe, graceful person, whose blue coat, smart as an officer's, and swarthy but handsome face made him at a glance the most striking figure in the room.

A little Chinese imp in white, who acted as marker, turned on the new-comers a face of preternatural cunning.
"Mr.Wutzler," said Heywood.

The weazened reader rose in a nervous flutter, underwent his introduction to Rudolph with as much bashful agony as a school-girl, mumbled a few words in German, and instantly took refuge in his tattered _Graphic_.

The players, however, advanced in a more friendly fashion.