air, was extraordinarily different, especially by contrast. A tall
well-made young man, rather thin, but broad-shouldered, and apparently
five or six and twenty years of age. Face clean-cut--so much so, indeed,
that the dark eyes alone relieved it from a suspicion of hardness; hair
short and straight, like the eyes, brown; expression that of a man of
thought and ability, and, when he smiled, singularly pleasant. Such was,
and is, Captain Oliver Orme, who, by the way, I should explain, is only
a captain of some volunteer engineers, although, in fact, a very able
soldier, as was proved in the South African War, whence he had then but
lately returned.

I ought to add also that he gave me the impression of a man not in
love with fortune, or rather of one with whom fortune was not in love;
indeed, his young face seemed distinctly sad. Perhaps it was this that
attracted me to him so much from the first moment that my eyes fell on
him--me with whom fortune had also been out of love for many years.

While I stood contemplating this pair, Higgs, looking up from the
papyrus or whatever it might be that he was reading (I gathered later
that he had spent the afternoon in unrolling a mummy, and was studying
its spoils), caught sight of me standing in the shadow.

"Who the devil are you?" he exclaimed in a shrill and strident voice,
for it acquires that quality when he is angry or alarmed, "and what are
you doing in my room?"

"Steady," said his companion; "your housekeeper told you that some
friend of yours had come to call."

"Oh, yes, so she did, only I can't remember any friend with a face and