UGGS would not have recognized a pterodactyl had he met one face to face in the street. Also, he was woefully deficient in theories regarding the fourth dimension. He had, however, taken a post-graduate course in the University of Hard Knocks, where he had specialized in human nature, and hence he knew many things his better-educated brethren did not.
Muggs knew, for instance, that there are smiles and smiles, that they may be read as easily as print, and that, if read correctly, they tell a man's intentions—or a woman's—as openly as spoken words.
So now, when the stranger smiled at him again, Muggs analyzed the smile quickly and efficiently, and noted the one important thing—that the stranger smiled with his lips, but not with his eyes. The eyes were small and gray, and appeared to glitter venomously. Either the glitter of those eyes or the smile on the lips expressed a falsehood, and Muggs decided it was the smile that lied.
Muggs was aware, also, that the stranger had been regarding him intently for ten minutes at least. He had felt the other's eyes upon him. There had been a time in Muggs' career when he had been sensitive enough to feel the near presence of a hostile force, an accomplishment that often had saved him from prison. Though now he walked the straight and narrow path as valet, chauffeur, and comrade in arms to Roger Verbeck, he retained a great deal of his old sensitiveness.
Verbeck had told him to eat before rejoining him, and so Muggs had entered this little restaurant on a side street and ordered a modest meal. He had no more than seated himself when he became aware that he was under surveillance.
Being a man of broad experience, and at present engaged with Verbeck and Detective Riley in matching wits with a clever crook and his followers, Muggs used caution. He did not turn his head quickly to ascertain the identity of the person whose eyes he felt. He sipped his coffee and conveyed a generous bite of pie to his mouth, sat back and wiped his lips, and, without seeming to look up, he searched with his eyes a panel mirror directly before him, in which was reflected the interior of the little restaurant.
It was almost the same minute that Roger Verbeck, in the more fashionable restaurant, looked in a mirror and observed the approach of his waiter with the finger bowl.
Muggs spotted his man! He of the glittering eyes sat at a table near the door and pretended to be eating berries and cake. He was regarding the back of Muggs' head intently—and smiling the lying smile.
"There's one hombre I've never seen before, to the best of my knowledge and belief," Muggs told himself, "yet he seems to be mighty interested in me. A man would think he was layin' to hand me a jolt, the way he acts. It's up to me to hand out the jolt first!"
Muggs picked up his check and reached for his hat. As he turned to walk the length of the restaurant, he saw that the other man had risen also, and was hurrying toward the cashier's cage. Realizing that the stranger was eager to get outside, either to accost or trail him, Muggs did some smiling of his own now; and a wise man could have read many things in that smile, the most important being to hurry from the vicinity of Mr. Muggs as speedily as possible.
Muggs paid his check and fumbled over the toothpicks, giving the other man ample time to establish himself outside to his satisfaction. Then he threw back his shoulders, shot out his lower jaw belligerently, and headed for the door.
The stranger with the glittering eyes was standing at the curb, a short distance away, just at the rear of a taxi-cab, and looking up and down the street as if awaiting an automobile. Muggs walked straight toward him.
"Pardon me, but are you an artist?" Muggs demanded, in a peculiar tone.
"I am not. Why do you ask, sir?"
They faced each other squarely. The stranger was well aware now that Muggs knew of the recent espionage, and was about to demand an explanation; and Muggs knew he was aware of it.
"You ain't lookin' for a model of a perfect male human head?" Muggs asked now.
"I am not, sir."
"I thought maybe you was, stranger. The way you bored them eyes of yours into my head back there in the restaurant, I not only suspicioned you was lookin' for a model, but that you'd found your man."
"I—I beg your pardon!" The other simulated astonishment.
"Yeh? Do I infer from that, stranger, that you ain't found your man? If for any particular reason you was lookin' for me, I'm here with my pedigree. My name's Muggs. I've got one peculiarity, and that is, that when I find a stranger regardin' me too close I always want to plant a fist 'tween his eyes. Ain't that funny?"
"Really, I"