This was in the German states; in Russia it was a different matter.
Had Carmichael not fallen a-dreaming over his pipe he would have seen the old man pass three slips of paper across the table; he would have seen the carter, the butcher, and the baker pocket these slips stolidly; he would have seen the mountaineer wave his hand sharply and the trio rise and disperse.

And perhaps it would have been well for him to have noted these singular manifestations of conspiracy, since shortly he was to become somewhat involved.

It was growing late; so Carmichael left the Black Eagle, nursing the sunken ember in his pipe and surrendering no part of his dream.
Intermediately the mountaineer paid his score and started for the stairs which led to the bedrooms above.

But he stopped at the bar.

A very old man was having a pail filled with hot cabbage soup.