All the tables were occupied, but having caught a glimpse through a narrow archway at the back of the shadowy forms of other diners, he walked through the room—only to discover that the two or three tables at the rear were also occupied. Noticing, however, a corkscrew stairway leading to mysterious regions above, he mounted it—passing several candles, set in various nooks and crannies, each of which flickered wastefully in the draught.
A smaller room containing little black tables awaited him. Bare boards emphasised the sound of every movement. The lower half of the walls was covered with dark woodwork, the upper half being whitewashed, A waiter in a white coat—of the type sometimes worn by dentists—was standing in a corner surveying the diners with an air of benevolent detachment. His head was tilted back, and his tongue was making certain involved and highly technical explorations in the left region of his upper jaw.
Rendell, having observed these details, and having detected a small table near the window, crossed to it, sat down, and picked up the menu.
After an interval, the waiter strolled across, leaned lightly on the corner of the table, and studied the menu over Rendell’s head in a manner which suggested that he had never seen it before, would never see it again, and was anxious to memorise its details.
“What’s the steak and kidney pie like?” Rendell asked.
“I’d have it, if I were you. Tasty! Boiled and cabbage?”
“All right—boiled and cabbage.”
The waiter turned, gazed at the stormy scene from the window for some moments, then crossed the room, picked up a newspaper, glanced at it impassively, and finally disappeared, rattling a pencil between his teeth.
Rendell surveyed the room and its occupants. The latter consisted of couples, or studious-looking solitary young men with books propped up against the heavy candlesticks. A cultured calm lingered over everything. Rendell decided that he liked the place. If the food were as good as the atmosphere was unique, he had made a useful discovery.
The food proved to be excellent, although the waiter placed it in front of him with an expression which implied that its appearance was a lucky fluke, and was by no means to be regarded as a precedent.
It is probable that if an incident had not occurred at this particular moment, Rendell would have engaged the waiter in conversation. His bony physiognomy, his rapt abstracted gaze, his attractive nonchalance which seemed to imply that his present activity, though temporary, was interesting—and that he derived deep inner satisfaction from witnessing its performance—all prompted Rendell to talk with him. But an incident prevented this.
A remarkable-looking individual appeared at the top of the stairs, then stood motionless and subjected each table to a searching scrutiny. He wore a light, and very wet, fawn overcoat and held a drenched soft hat in his left hand. A strand of black straight hair had fallen across a high, narrow forehead. A small moustache, and a dank little beard, contrasted oddly with the frail feminine features. The bony shoulders, too, seemed disproportionately heavy for the slender body. Grey eyes looked penetratingly out of the hatchet-shaped face.
His survey of the table continued with great deliberation. Rendell’s was the last to be reviewed. Consequently Rendell discovered that his features and general appearance were the subject of profound consideration by an odd-looking individual who stood motionless the other side of the room. One glance at this person created a sensation of intense aversion in Rendell, and an angry hope that he would not occupy the empty chair at his table.
The latter was destined to perish, for the unknown crossed the room with swift, long strides, halted opposite Rendell, and announced:
“Your name is Rendell.”
Accepting the latter’s look of astonishment as assent, the new-comer removed his overcoat and handed it, with his hat, to the waiter, and then proceeded to give him the most minute instructions as to the manner in which they were to be dried. Having specified the precise distance from the fire which they were to occupy, and the exact duration of their tenancy, he picked up the menu, tossed back his strand of errant hair, and studied the bill of fare with an absolute concentration.
When a minute had passed, the waiter made a suggestion.
The menu was immediately put down, the waiter regarded with passionless animosity, then this brief announcement was made:
“
Rendell was surprised to discover that there was nothing in the least amusing about all this. It was hard and repellent. The atmosphere of cold isolation which enveloped this man was definitely the reverse of amusing. Rendell began to study his appearance in greater detail.