The Secret Adversary

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Just before the Bond Street Tube station they crossed the road, Tommy,
unperceived, faithfully at their heels, and entered the big Lyons'.
There they went up to the first floor, and sat at a small table in the
window. It was late, and the place was thinning out. Tommy took a seat
at the table next to them, sitting directly behind Whittington in case
of recognition. On the other hand, he had a full view of the second man
and studied him attentively. He was fair, with a weak, unpleasant face,
and Tommy put him down as being either a Russian or a Pole. He was
probably about fifty years of age, his shoulders cringed a little as he
talked, and his eyes, small and crafty, shifted unceasingly.

Having already lunched heartily, Tommy contented himself with ordering
a Welsh rarebit and a cup of coffee. Whittington ordered a substantial
lunch for himself and his companion; then, as the waitress withdrew, he
moved his chair a little closer to the table and began to talk earnestly
in a low voice. The other man joined in. Listen as he would, Tommy could
only catch a word here and there; but the gist of it seemed to be some