nounced the man they had
been discussing. Alexander MacKenzie came in.

He was just under six feet high, spare and well-made. He did not at the
first glance give you the impression of particular strength, but his
limbs were well-knit, there was no superfluous flesh about him, and you
felt immediately that he had great powers of endurance. His hair was
dark and cut very close. His short beard and his moustache were red.
They concealed the squareness of his chin and the determination of his
mouth. His eyes were not large, but they rested on the object that
attracted his attention with a peculiar fixity. When he talked to you
he did not glance this way or that, but looked straight at you with a
deliberate steadiness that was a little disconcerting. He walked with an
easy swing, like a man in the habit of covering a vast number of miles
each day, and there was in his manner a self-assurance which suggested
that he was used to command. His skin was tanned by exposure to tropical
suns.

Mrs. Crowley and Dick chattered light-heartedly, but it was clear that
he had no power of small-talk, and after the first greetings he fell
into silence; he refused tea, but Mrs. Crowley poured out a cup and
handed it to him.

'You need not drink it, but I insist on your holding it in your hand. I
hate people who habitually deny themselves things, and I can't allow you
to mortify the flesh in my house.'

Alec smiled gravely.

'Of course I will drink it if it pleases you,' he answered. 'I got in
the habit in Africa of eating only two meals a day, and I can't get out
of it now. But I'm afraid it's very inconvenient for my friends.' He
looked at Lomas, and though his mouth did not smile, a look came into
his eyes, partly of tenderness, partly of amusement. 'Dick, of course,
eats far too much.'

'Good heavens, I'm nearly the only person left in London who is
completely normal. I eat my three square meals a day regularly, and I
always have a comfortable tea into the bargain. I don't suffer from any
disease. I'm in the best of health. I have no fads. I neither nibble
nuts like a squirrel, nor grapes like a bird--I care nothing for all
this jargon about pepsins and proteids and all the rest of it. I'm not a
vegetarian, but a carnivorous animal; I drink when I'm thirsty, and I
decidedly prefer my beverages to be alcoholic.'

'I was thinking at luncheon to-day,' said Mrs. Crowley, 'that the
pleasure you took in roast-beef and ale showed a sing