Every moment I expected his anxiety or disappointment to find vent in words, but he always managed to control himself in time. When he became excited I noticed that his whole body quivered under its influence, and once when the smaller of the players made an injudicious move a look flew into his face that was full of such malignant intensity that I'll own I was almost frightened by it. What effect it would have had on the innocent cause of it all, had he seen it, I should have been sorry to conjecture.
Just as my lunch made its appearance the game arrived at a conclusion, and the taller of the two players, having made a remark in German, rose to leave. It was evident that the smaller man had won, and in an excess of pride, to which I gathered his nature was not altogether a stranger, looked round the room as if in defiance.
Doing so, his eyes met those of the man in the corner. I glanced from one to the other, but my gaze rested longest on the face of the smaller man. So fascinated did he seem to be by the other's stare that his eyes became set and stony. It was just as if he were mesmerised. The man he looked at rose, approached him, sat down at the table and began to arrange the men on the board without a word. Then he looked up again.
"May I have the pleasure of giving you a game?" he asked in excellent English, bowing slightly as he spoke, and moving a pawn with his long white fingers.
The little man found voice enough to murmur an appropriate reply and they began their game, while I turned to my lunch. But in spite of myself I found my eyes continually turning to see what was happening at the other table. And, indeed, it was a curious sight.
The tall man had thrown himself into the business of the game, heart and soul. He half sat, half crouched over the board, reminding me more of a gigantic hawk hovering over a poultry yard than anything else I can liken him to.
His eyes were riveted first on the men before him and then on his opponent—his long fingers twitched and twined over each move, and seemed as if they would never release their hold. Not once did he speak, but his attitude was more expressive than any words.
The effect on the little man, his companion, was overwhelming. He was quite unable to do anything, but sat huddled up in his chair as if terrified by his demoniacal companion. The result even a child might have foreseen. The tall man won, and the little man, only too glad to have come out of the ordeal with a whole skin, seized his hat and, with a half-uttered apology, darted from the room.
For a moment or two his extraordinary opponent sat playing with the chessmen. Then he looked up at me and without hesitation said, accompanying his remark with a curious smile for which I could not at all account:
"The limitations of the fool are the birth gifts of the wise!"
Not knowing what reply to make to this singular assertion, I wisely held my tongue. This brought about a change in his demeanour; he rose from his seat, and came across to where I sat. Seating himself in a chair directly opposite me, he folded his hands in his lap, after the manner of a demure old spinster, and, having looked at me earnestly, said with an almost incomprehensible sweetness of tone:
"I think you will agree with me, Mr. Hatteras, that half the world is born for the other half to prey upon!"
Really he was a most extraordinary man. Now, how on earth did he know my name? I stumbled out some sort of reply, which evidently did not impress him very much, for he began again:
"Our friend who has just left us will most certainly be one of those preyed upon. I pity him because he will not find the smallest grain of pleasure in his life. You, on the other hand, will, unwittingly, be on the other side. Circumstances will arrange that for you. Some have, of course, no desire to prey; but necessity forces it on them. Yourself, for instance. Some only prey when they are quite sure there will be no manner of risk. Our German friend who played the previous game, is an example. Others, again, never lose an opportunity. Candidly speaking, to which class should you imagine I belong?"
He smiled as he put the question, and, his thin lips parting, I could just catch the glitter of the short teeth with which his mouth was furnished. For the third time since I had made his acquaintance I did not know which way to answer. However, I made a shot and said something.
"I really know nothing about you," I answered. "But from your kindness in giving our artist friend a game, and now in allowing me the benefit of your conversation, I should say you only prey upon your fellow men when dire extremity drives you to it."
"And would you be wrong. I am of the last class I named. There is only one sport that is of any interest to me in life, and that is the opportunity of making capital out of my fellow humans. You see, I am candid with you, Mr. Hatteras!"
"Pray excuse me. But you know my name! As I have never, to my knowledge, set eyes on you before, would you mind telling me how you became acquainted with it?"
"With every pleasure. But before I do so I think it only fair to tell you that you will not believe my explanation. And yet it should convince you. At any rate, we'll try. In your right hand top waistcoat pocket you have three cards." Here he leant his head on his hands and shut his eyes. "One is crinkled and torn, but it has written on it in pencil, the name Edward Braithwaite, Macquarrie Street, Sydney. I presume the name is Braithwaite, but the t and e are almost illegible. The second is rather a high sounding one—the Hon. Sylvester Wetherell, Potts Point, Sydney, New South Wales, and the third is, I take it, your own, Richard Hatteras. Am I right?"
I put my fingers in my pocket, and drew out what it contained—a half sovereign, a shilling, a small piece of pencil, and three cards. The first, a well-worn piece of pasteboard, bore, surely enough, the name of Edward Braithwaite, and was that of the solicitor with whom I transacted my business in Sydney; the second was given me by my sweetheart's father the day before we left Australia; and the third was sure enough my own.
Was this witchcraft or only some clever conjuring trick? I asked myself the question, but could give it no satisfactory answer. At any rate you may be sure it did not lessen my respect for my singular companion.
"Ah! I am right then!" he cried exultingly. "Isn't it strange how the love of being right remains with us, when we think we have safely combated every other self-conceit? Well, Mr. Hatteras, I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance. Somehow I seem to think we are destined to meet again—where I cannot say. At any rate, let us hope that that meeting will be as pleasant and successful as this has been."
But I hardly heard what he said. I was still puzzling my brains over his extraordinary conjuring trick—for trick I am convinced it was. He had risen and was slowly drawing on his gloves when I spoke.
"I have been thinking over those cards," I said, "and I am considerably puzzled. How on earth did you know they were there?"
"If I told you, you would have no more faith in my powers. So with your permission I will assume the virtue of modesty. Call it a conjuring trick, if you like. Many curious things are hidden under that comprehensive term. But that is neither here nor there. Before I go would you like to see one more?"
"Very much, indeed, if it's as good as the last!" I replied.
In the window stood a large glass dish, half full of water and having a dark brown fly paper floating on the surface. He brought it across to the table at which I sat, and drained the water into a jug near by, leaving the paper sticking to the bottom.
This done, he took a tiny leather case from his pocket and a small bottle out of that again. From this bottle he poured a few drops of some highly pungent liquid on to the paper, with the result that it grew black as ink and threw off a tiny vapour, which licked the edges of the bowl and curled upwards in a faint spiral column.
"There, Mr. Hatteras, this is a—well, a trick—I learned from an old woman in Benares. It is a better one than the last and will repay your interest. If you will look on that paper for a moment, and try to concentrate your attention, you will see something that will, I think, astonish you."
Hardly