saw him distinctly for the first time. He did not impress me favourably.
He was a thick-set, round-shouldered man, a typical fair German with
tow-coloured hair, greased and brushed down smoothly, a large, ragged,
sandy beard and coarse, sketchy features. His nose was large and thick
with a bulbous end, and inclined to a reddish purple, a tint which
extended to the adjacent parts of his face as if the colour had run. His
eyebrows were large and beetling, overhanging deep-set eyes, and he wore
a pair of spectacles which gave him a somewhat owlish expression. His
exterior was unprepossessing, and I was in a state of mind that rendered
me easily receptive of an unfavourable impression.

"Well," he said, "what do you make of him?" I hesitated, still perplexed
by the conflicting necessities of caution and frankness, but at length
replied:

"I think rather badly of him, Mr. Weiss. He is in a very low state."

"Yes, I can see that. But have you come to any decision as to the nature
of his illness?"

There was a tone of anxiety and suppressed eagerness in the question
which, while it was natural enough in the circumstances, by no means
allayed my suspicions, but rather influenced me on the side of caution.

"I cannot give a very definite opinion at present," I replied guardedly.
"The symptoms are rather obscure and might very well indicate several
different conditions. They might be due to congestion of the brain, and,
if no other explanation were possible, I should incline to that view.
The alternative is some narcotic poison, such as opium or morphia."