The boys
did not care to enter a conspicuous restaurant, and so they chose an
obscure eating house on a side street.
At first glance the place seemed without customers as they entered, and
the boys were glad to have the room to themselves, but as soon as they
were seated two men came in and took seats at a table not far away from
their own. The men were dusky fellows, with long hair and sharp black
eyes. They ordered sparingly, as if they cared little for food, and, after
glancing furtively around the room, spent their time in whispered conversation.
Fremont thought he saw something familiar in one of the men, and kept his
eyes on his face until the coarse features, the sullen grin, became
associated in his mind with the Cameron building in New York. It did
not seem possible that this could be true, yet there was a face he had
seen in the corridors of the great building, and every moment the
identification was becoming more definite.
"Ever see that man before?" he asked of Frank, nudging the boy and
pointing with his fork, held so low down that it could not be seen
by the others.
"I'm sure I have," was the reply. "He was at the hotel when I went
upstairs to your room," Frank went on. "I remember now."
Before anything more could be said the two men arose and approached
the table where the boys sat. Railing at the adverse fate which had
brought him in contact with this man after a successful flight from
the New York police, Fremont arose and darted toward the door.
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