plainly upon their persons the indefinable stamp of achievement,
whether of good or evil, which renders them conspicuous among
their fellows. We turn after a man in the street and ask, Who is
he? And nine times out of ten the object of our curiosity is a man
who has made his mark--a successful soldier, a famous sailor, a
celebrated author, a distinguished lawyer, or even a notorious
crook.

There was certainly nothing in John Ryder's outward appearance to
justify Lombroso's sensational description of him: "A social and
physiological freak, a degenerate and a prodigy of turpitude who,
in the pursuit of money, crushes with the insensibility of a steel
machine everyone who stands in his way." On the contrary, Ryder,
outwardly at least, was a prepossessing-looking man. His head was
well-shaped, and he had an intellectual brow, while power was
expressed in every gesture of his hands and body. Every inch of
him suggested strength and resourcefulness. His face, when in good
humour, frequently expanded in a pleasant smile, and he had even
been known to laugh boisterously, usually at his own stories,
which he rightly considered very droll, and of which he possessed
a goodly stock. But in repose his face grew stern and forbidding,
and when his prognathous jaw, indicative of will-power and bull-
dog tenacity, snapped to with a click-like sound, those who heard
it knew that squalls were coming.

But it was John Ryder's eyes that were regarded as the most
reliable barometer of his mental condition. Wonderful eyes they
were, strangely eloquent and expressive, and their most singular
feature was that they possessed the uncanny power of changing
colour like a cat's. When their owner was at peace with the world,