"So you say." Maunders looked very directly at his host. "Some fellows don't think so. Your business----"
Vernon interrupted. "I have no business; I am an independent man."
"And yet a busy one," rejoined Maunders softly; "strange."
There was that significance in his tone which made Vernon colour, although he remained motionless. He certainly was about to make a hasty observation, but his guest looked at him so straightly and smilingly, that he bit his lip and refrained from immediate speech. Maunders, still smiling, took a cigarette from a golden case and lighted up. "You might offer me a cup of coffee."
Vernon signalled to a passing attendant. "A cup of coffee for Mr. Maunders."
"With a vanilla bean," directed the other man. "I don't like coffee otherwise. And hurry up, please!" Then, when the servant departed, he turned suavely to his host. "I forget what we were talking about."
Maunders, smoking delicately, rested his wrists on the copper edge of the table and looked searchingly into his friend's strong face. And Vernon's face was strong--much stronger than that of his companion. He likewise had blue eyes, but of a deep-sea blue, less shallow and more piercing than those of Maunders. His face was also oval, with finely cut features, but more scored with thought-marks; and his hair was as dark, smooth, and short-cropped as that of the other's was golden, curly, and--odd adjective to use in connection with a man--fluffy. Both were clean-shaven, but Vernon's mouth was firm, while the lips of Maunders were less compressed and betrayed indecision. The former had the more athletic figure, the latter a more graceful one, and although both were well groomed and well dressed, Vernon was less of the dandy in his attention to detail. Poetically speaking, one man was Night and the other Day; but a keen observer would have read that the first used strength of body and brain to achieve his ends, while the last relied more on cunning. And from the looks of the twain, cunning and strength were about to try conclusions. Yet they had been child-friends, school-friends, and--so far as their paths ran parallel--were life-friends, with certain reservations.
"You were always as deep as a well, Arty," said Maunders, finally removing his eyes from the other's face and turning to take his cup of coffee.