The House on the River by Fred M. White

It was a moment when it was up to Quint to do a little quick thinking.

He had some sort of a grasp of the situation, but the full significance of it had not come home to him yet. He was fumbling about in the dark for a clue and asking himself more or less vainly where he had seen this man before. He had a vague sort of idea that they had met somewhere, but for the life of him he could not think where. His mind travelled rapidly back to the time when he had gone over to the States with the full intention of winning the great international tournament, and in the end he had done so handsomely enough. He had gone with a pretty big reputation, and, needless to say, that reputation was enhanced by his success, and to do him justice, his own sterling qualities.