His skin was fresh-hued, and there was a shade of warm
brown in his small, well-ordered moustasche, but his hair,
wavy and worn longer than the fashion, seemed black.
There were perceptible veins of grey in it, though he
had only entered his thirty-fifth year. He was dressed
habitually with the utmost possible care.

The contrast between this personage and the older man
confronting him was abrupt. Thorpe was also tall,
but of a burly and slouching figure. His face,
shrouded in a high-growing, dust-coloured beard,
invited no attention. One seemed always to have known
this face--thick-featured, immobile, undistinguished.
Its accessories for the time being were even more than
ordinarily unimpressive. Both hair and beard were
ragged with neglect. His commonplace, dark clothes
looked as if he had slept in them. The hands resting
on his big knees were coarse in shape, and roughened,
and ill-kept.

"I couldn't have asked anything better than your dropping in,
"he repeated now, speaking with a drag, as of caution,
on his words. "Witnesses or no witnesses, I'm anxious
to have you understand that I realize what I owe to you."

"I only wish it were a great deal more than it is,"
replied the other, with a frank smile.

"Oh, it'll mount up to considerable, as it stands,"
said Thorpe.