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Even the Manitou section were stilled into sympathy with him. Many of them had heard his speech in Barbazon's Tavern just before the horseshoe struck him down, and they heard him now, much simpler in manner and with that something in his voice and face. Yet it made them shrink a little, too, to see his blind eyes looking out straight before him. It was uncanny.
"Osterhaut got wind of it he's staying at old Mother Thibadeau's, as you know. He moves round a lot, and he put me on to it. I took on the job at once. I got in with the French toughs over at Manitou, at Barbazon's Tavern, and I gave them gin we made it a gin night. It struck their fancy gin, all gin!
He was alone in the bar of Barbazon's Hotel except for one person the youngest of the officials who had been retired from the offices of the railways when Ingolby had merged them. This was a man who had got his position originally by nepotism, and represented the worst elements of a national life where the spoils system is rooted in the popular mind.
"You were the cause of what happened at Barbazon's last night," he smiled evilly "you are egging on the roughs to break up the Orange funeral to-day; and there is all the rest you know so well." "What is the rest I know so well?" He looked closely at her, his long, mongrel eyes half-closing with covert scrutiny. "Whatever it is, it is all bad and it is all yours." "Not all," he retorted coolly.
Even the Manitou section were stilled into sympathy with him. Many of them had heard his speech in Barbazon's Tavern just before the horseshoe struck him down, and they heard him now, much simpler in manner and with that something in his voice and face. Yet it made them shrink a little, too, to see his blind eyes looking out straight before him. It was uncanny.
He ain't got back to where he was before the war," remarked Osterhaut sagely. "War that business at Barbazon's! You call that war! It wasn't war," declared Jowett spasmodically, grasping the rail of the fire-engine as the wheel struck a stone and nearly shot them from their seats. "It wasn't war. It was terrible low-down treachery.
"He went prowling in Manitou, and in Barbazon's Tavern they struck him down." "Who struck him down?" she asked. It seemed to her that the night-bird sang so loud that she could scarcely hear her own voice. "A drunken Gorgio," he replied. "The horseshoe is for luck all the world over, and it brought its luck to Manitou to-night.
None of them, or very few of them, had seen him since that night at Barbazon's Tavern, yet in spite of his tragedy there seemed little change in him. There was the same quirk at the corner of the mouth, the same humour in the strong face, not so ruddy now; and strangely enough the eyes were neither guarded by spectacles, nor were they shrunken, glazed, or diseased, so far as could be seen.
"What did you mean when you said that Ingolby's eyes would not feed upon me?" she asked in a low tone of fear. A look of compassion came into the old man's face. He took her hand. "Come and I will tell you," he said. In Ingolby's bedroom, on the night of the business at Barbazon's Tavern, Dr. Rockwell received a shock. His face, naturally colourless, was almost white, and his eyes were moist.
He moved about Lebanon as one who had authority, and desired not to use it; as one to whom life was like a case in surgery to be treated with scientific, coolness, with humanity, but not with undue sympathy; yet the early morning of the day after Ingolby had had his accident at Barbazon's Hotel found him the slave of an emotion which shook him from head to foot.
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