An Amiable Charlatan by Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A stranger," I replied; "a stranger to this place, I am sure. He is tall and dark; he is a little lantern-jawed--a hatchet-shaped face, I should call it."

"My man, right enough," Mr. Joseph H. Parker muttered. "Don't seem to notice him particularly," he added, "but tell me what he is doing."

"He seems to have entered in a hurry," I announced, "and is now taking off his overcoat. He is wearing, I perceive, a bowler hat, a dinner jacket, the wrong-shaped collar; and he appears to have forgotten to change his boots."

"That's Cullen, all right," Mr. Joseph H. Parker groaned. "You're a person of observation, sir. Well, I've been in tighter corners than this--thanks to you!"

"Who is Mr. Cullen and what does he want?" I asked.

"Mr. Cullen," my guest declared, sampling the fresh bottle of wine which had just been brought to him, "is one of those misguided individuals whose lack of faith in his fellows will bring him some time or other to a bad end. My young friend, sip that wine thoughtfully--don't hurry over it--and tell me whether my choice is not better than yours?"

"Possibly," I remarked, with a glance at the yellow seal, "your pocket is longer. By the by, your friend is coming toward us."

"It is not a question of pocket," Mr. Parker continued, disregarding my remark, "it is a question of taste and judgment; discrimination is perhaps the word I should use. Now in my younger days--Eh? What's that?"

The person named Cullen had paused at my table. His hand was resting gently upon the shoulder of my self-invited guest. Mr. Parker looked up and appeared to recognize him with much surprise.

"You, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed. "Say, I'm delighted to see you--I am sure! But would you mind--just a little lower with your fingers! Too professional a touch altogether!"

Mr. Cullen smiled, and from that moment I took a dislike to him--a dislike that did much toward determining the point of view from which I was inclined to consider various succeeding incidents. He was by no means a person of prepossessing appearance. His cheeks were colorless save for a sort of yellowish tinge. His mouth reminded me of the mouth of a horse; his teeth were irregular and poor.

Yet there was about the man a certain sense of power. His eyes were clear and bright. His manner was imbued with the reserve strength of a man who knows his own mind and does not fear to speak it.

"I am sorry to interrupt you at your dinner, Mr. Parker," he said, his eyes traveling all over the table as though taking in its appointments and condition.

"Of no consequence at all," Mr. Parker assured him; "in fact I have nearly finished. If you are thinking of dining here let me recommend this chicken _en casserole_. I have tasted nothing so good for days!"

Mr. Cullen thanked him mechanically. His mind, however, was obviously filled with other things. He was puzzled.

"You must have a double about this evening, I fancy," he remarked. "I could have sworn I saw you coming out of a certain little house in Adam Street not a couple of minutes ago. You know the little house I mean?"

Mr. Parker smiled.