It was the face of a man possessed of marvellous intellectual powers, and
none the less attractive because, while the skin was as fair as a woman's
and the eyes as clear as a child's, the wavy hair was absolutely white.
The face of a man who had suffered fiercely and long. A face hiding a
great sorrow.

Time was when Bell had promised to stand in the front rank of operative
physicians. In brain troubles and mental disorders he had distinguished
himself. He had a marvellous faculty for psychological research; indeed,
he had gone so far as to declare that insanity was merely a disease and
capable of cure the same as any ordinary malady. "If Bell goes on as he
has started," a great German specialist once declared, "he will
inevitably prove to be the greatest benefactor to mankind since the
beginning of the world." Bell was to be the man of his time.

And then suddenly he had faded out as a star drops from the zenith. There
had been dark rumours of a terrible scandal, a prosecution burked by
strong personal influence, mysterious paragraphs in the papers, and the
disappearance of the name of Hatherly Bell from the rank of great medical
jurists. Nobody seemed to know anything about it, but Bell was ignored by
all except a few old friends, and henceforth he devoted his attention to
criminology and the evolution of crime. It was Bell's boast that he could
take a dozen men at haphazard and give you their vices and virtures
point-blank. He had a marvellous gift that way.

A few people stuck to him, Gilead Gates amongst the number. The
millionaire philanthropist had need of someone to pick the sheep from the
goats, and Bell made no mistakes. David Steel had been able to do the
specialist some slight service a year or two before, and Bell had been
pleased to magnify this into a great favour.