The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue. It was barely ten o'clock at night, but cold gusts of wind had almost emptied the streets. Trying doors as he went, the officer made a fine picture of a guardian of the peace. This part of the city kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a shop, but most of the doors belonged to businesses that had long been closed. When he was about halfway down one block, the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a dark hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him, the man spoke quickly. "It is all right, officer," he said. "I am just waiting for a friend. It is an appointment made twenty years ago. Does that sound a little strange to you? Well, I will explain, if you want to be sure. About twenty years ago there was a restaurant where this store stands now." "Until five years ago," said the policeman. "Then it was torn down." The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale face with sharp eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow.