A man wearing two marguerites in the lapel of his coat had entered
abruptly, and sat down to a table close at hand.
Condy drew a breath of suppressed excitement.
"There he is," he whispered--"Captain Jack!"
They looked at the newcomer with furtive anxiety, and told
themselves that they were disappointed. For a retired sea captain
he was desperately commonplace. His hair was red, he was younger
than they had expected, and, worst of all, he did look tough.
"Oh, poor K. D. B.!" sighed Blix, shaking her head. "He'll never
do, I'm afraid. Perhaps he has a good heart, though; red-headed
people are SOMETIMES affectionate."
"They are impulsive," hazarded Condy.
As he spoke the words, a second man entered the little room. He,
too, sat down at a nearby table. He, too, ordered the "supper
Mexican." He, too, wore marguerites in his buttonhole.
"Death and destruction!" gasped Condy, turning pale.
Blix collapsed helplessly in her chair, her hands dropping in her
lap. They stared at each other in utter confusion.
"Here's a how-do-you-do," murmured Condy, pretending to strip a
TAMALE that Richard had just set before him. But Blix had pushed
hers aside.
"What does it mean?" whispered Condy across the table. "In
Heaven's name, what does it mean?"
"It can only mean one thing," Blix declared; "one of them is the
captain, and one is a coincidence. Anybody might wear a
marguerite; we ought to have thought of that.
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