Why, gentlemen, I have my
own word for it.'
Nobody laughed--all were looking at something
behind me. Turning in my seat I saw a man in
evening dress who had just entered the room. He was
exceedingly dark, almost swarthy, with a thin face,
black-bearded to the lips, an abundance of coarse
black hair in some disorder, a high nose and eyes
that glittered with as soulless an expression as those
of a cobra. One of the group rose and introduced
him as Dr. Dorrimore, of Calcutta. As each of us
was presented in turn he acknowledged the fact with
a profound bow in the Oriental manner, but with
nothing of Oriental gravity. His smile impressed me
as cynical and a trifle contemptuous. His whole
demeanour I can describe only as disagreeably
engaging.
His presence led the conversation into other chan-
nels. He said little--I do not recall anything of what
he did say. I thought his voice singularly rich and
melodious, but it affected me in the same way as his
eyes and smile. In a few minutes I rose to go. He
also rose and put on his overcoat.
'Mr. Manrich,' he said, 'I am going your way.'
'The devil you are!' I thought. 'How do you
know which way I am going?' Then I said, 'I shall
be pleased to have your company.'
We left the building together. No cabs were in
sight, the street cars had gone to bed, there was a
full moon and the cool night air was delightful; we
walked up the California Street Hill.
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