Then he left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight
for the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever
he was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He
quietly opened the door and walked in.
A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on
the hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a
curiously young-old appearance, such as is found in professors
and scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probably
heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnified
his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord
Randolph Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots,
showing that he had come on foot.
The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
Desmond wondered what on earth this man's profession was. He was
quite unable to place him.
"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I
am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally."
Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had
put out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it.
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