In fact, the bed was scarcely
disturbed beyond the actual impress of his figure. He seemed to be
a handsome, matured man of about forty; his dark straight hair was
a little thinned over the temples, although his long heavy
moustache was still youthful and virgin. His clothes, which were
elegantly cut and of finer material than that in ordinary use, the
delicacy and neatness of his linen, the whiteness of his hands,
and, more particularly, a certain dissipated pallor of complexion
and lines of recklessness on the brow and cheek, indicated to
Herbert that the man before him was one of that desperate and
suspected class--some of whose proscribed members he had been
hunting--the professional gambler!
Possibly the magnetism of Herbert's intent and astonished gaze
affected him. He moved slightly, half opened his eyes, said
"Halloo, Tap," rubbed them again, wholly opened them, fixed them
with a lazy stare on Herbert, and said:
"Now, who the devil are you?"
"I think I have the right to ask that question, considering that
this is my room," said Herbert sharply.
"YOUR room?"
"Yes!"
The stranger half raised himself on his elbow, glanced round the
room, settled himself slowly back on the pillows, with his hands
clasped lightly behind his head, dropped his eyelids, smiled, and
said:
"Rats!"
"What?" demanded Herbert, with a resentful sense of sacrilege to
Cherry's virgin slang.
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