Astonished into yielding without protest, and at the same time feeling sufficiently eager to learn the cause for such a request, Winston unhesitatingly followed the other through the press, marking as he did so the slender erectness of that figure in advance, the square set of the broad shoulders, the easy air of authority with which he cleared the way.  Without ceremony Farnham flung aside a heavy brocaded curtain, glancing inquiringly into the smaller room thus revealed.  It contained a square table and half a dozen chairs.  Three men sat within, their feet elevated, quietly smoking.  The gambler coolly ran his eyes over their uplifted faces.

“I desire to use this room, gents,” he announced quietly.  “You ’ll find plenty of vacant space outside.”

Whether the lounging trio knew the speaker of old, or were sufficiently satisfied from his stern face of the probable results should they long hesitate to comply, the three pairs of feet came down together, their owners passing out in single file.  Farnham waved his hand politely toward the vacated interior, a slight measure of deference apparent in his modulated voice.

“Help yourself to a chair, Mr. Winston, and permit me to offer you a fresh cigar; a fairly good one I imagine, as I chance to be somewhat particular regarding the weed.”

A moment they sat thus furtively studying each other’s face across the table through the increasing clouds of blue smoke, the younger man puzzled and filled with vague suspicion, the elder still rather uncertain of his present ground, as well as of the exact sort of character opposing him.  He was somewhat expert in judging human nature; and the full, square chin, the frank, open look in those steady gray eyes across the table left him doubtful of the final outcome.

“No doubt, my addressing you by name was something of a surprise,” he began, leaning slightly forward, his cigar between his fingers; “but as it chanced, you were pointed out to me on the street a few hours since.  May I inquire in this connection if, by any freak of fortune, you can be Ned Winston, of Denver?”

“I am.”

Farnham permitted his lips to smile genially, although his eyes remained utterly devoid of humor.  He was skating upon rather thin ice now, realizing it to be far safer to make the venture in all boldness.  What he might need to say later would altogether depend upon how much this man really knew.

“I was not previously assured of that fact,” he explained, pleasantly.  “It was my pleasure at one time to be quite intimately associated with an old friend of yours, a college chum, I believe—­Robert Craig, of Chicago.”

The swift light of pleasant remembrance glowed instantly within the other’s watchful eyes.  For the moment he dropped his guard in the surprise of this avowal.

“Bob Craig!  Indeed; why, I do not recall his ever having mentioned your name to me.”