Arthur was lost in thought, perhaps not even realizing himself that after just a short while at the coffee stand, he had quickly transformed from the aloof Sir Arthur Hastings back into a grumbling small-town Londoner.
Just as Arthur set his teacup down, the tent flap was cautiously lifted, and a gloved hand reached in, followed by a slender, nervous-looking man.
The newcomer wore a gray wool coat, with round-framed glasses perched on his nose, and his hat brim pulled low, as if worried about being recognized.
His footsteps were very light yet very uneasy. As he glanced swiftly around the tent, he began to complain in a low voice, "Damn it! Why on earth did you choose this place, at this time, to meet? Four in the morning, a street stall—I was almost vomited on by a drunk just now!"
