"Your seat, madam," said Orde.
The woman, frightened, unwilling to become the participant of a
scene of any sort, stood looking here and there. Orde,
comprehending her embarrassment, twisted his antagonist about, and,
before he could recover his equilibrium sufficiently to offer
resistance, propelled him rapidly to the open door, the passengers
hastily making way for them.
"Now, my friend," said Orde, releasing his hold on the other's
collar, "don't do such things any more. They aren't nice."
Trivial as the incident was, it served to draw Orde to the
particular notice of an elderly man leaning against the rear rail.
He was a very well-groomed man, dressed in garments whose fit was
evidently the product of the highest art, well buttoned up, well
brushed, well cared for in every way. In his buttonhole he wore a
pink carnation, and in his gloved hand he carried a straight, gold-
headed cane. A silk hat covered his head, from beneath which showed
a slightly empurpled countenance, with bushy white eyebrows, a white
moustache, and a pair of rather bloodshot, but kindly, blue eyes.
In spite of his somewhat pudgy rotundity, he carried himself quite
erect, in a manner that bespoke the retired military man.
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