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Jones, turning, found himself face to face with the stranger whom he had seen in the lounge, the stranger whose face he knew but whose name he could not remember in the least.

Jones was a direct person, used to travel and the forming of chance acquaintanceships. He did not hang back.

“’Scuse me,” said he. “I saw you in the lounge and I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere or another, but I can’t place you.”

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The stranger, taking his change from the assistant bar tender, laughed.

“Yes,” said he, “you have seen me before, often, I should think. Do you mean to say you don’t know where?”

“Nope,” said Jones—he had acquired a few American idioms—“I’m clear out of my reckoning—are you an American?”

“No, I’m English,” replied the other. “This is very curious, you don’t recognise me, well—well—well—let’s sit down and have a talk, maybe recollection will come to you—give it time—it is easier to think sitting down than standing up.”

Now as Jones turned to take his seat at the table indicated by the stranger, he noticed that the bar keeper and his assistant were looking at him as though he had suddenly become an object of more than ordinary interest.