Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

54 страница из 83

Samson returned to some mysterious carpentering that was engaging his attention in the stable, and Rowton went into the dining-room.

A little man, with sandy hair and a thin face, was standing by one of the windows. He was vulgarly dressed and had somewhat the appearance of a fifth-rate commercial traveller. He had large bushy whiskers, a shade redder than his hair, but his small eyes were light and set far back in his head. With the exception of his whiskers the little man had a clean-shaven face, which revealed the lines of remarkably thin and somewhat crooked lips. The lips alone marked the face with the stamp of originality—they were cruel and repulsive in their expression.

When he saw Rowton enter he turned and came up to him with a quick, alert tread.

“You have kept me waiting for over an hour,” he said.

“Well, I am sorry, Scrivener. You see I did not expect you,” said Rowton. He flung himself into a chair as he spoke, and favoured his unprepossessing visitor with a quizzical glance.