Exit a Dictator by E. Phillips Oppenheim

It was the custom of the passengers to dine early, and at eight o'clock that evening there were barely a score of people in the smaller cocktail bar attached to the smoke-room. Amongst them were Nicolas Grodin and Joseph Likinski, seated together in a remote corner. Alexander, arriving alone and unnoticed, stood for a few seconds upon the threshold glancing around. He was not a man with whom anyone would associate the idea of indecision, but there was about him that evening, as he lingered there and again hesitated before an empty table, a suggestion of irresolution. In time, however, he made up his mind. He crossed the room and approached the table at which the two men were seated. There was something furtive in Likinski's manner as he looked up and, recognising the newcomer, shrank a little back into his place. The other, partially recovered from his indisposition, a thick-set, burly man, with close-cropped black hair, and imperial, flaccid cheeks, a heavy jowl and a determined expression which seemed somehow out of keeping with the cruel upward curve of his mouth, frowned as though inclined to resent the approach of a stranger. It was he whom Alexander addressed.

"You will forgive my intrusion," he begged. "We are all three known to one another so I will not waste time in useless introductions."