"Anthony Lyveden," he muttered. "Where on earth have I heard that name?"
The expression upon his face was that of a man absorbed in searching his memory. He was, indeed, so much engrossed in this occupation that the keen grey eyes went straying whither they listed.
Let us follow those eyes.
From the light of the fire in its cage to the toe of his lordship's pump, up to the chiselled mantel and the cigarette-box—the marshal's—perched on the narrow ledge, down to the heavy bell-pull by the side of the hearth, on to a high-backed chair against the wall, down again to the floor—all black here, for the light is too distant to show the carpet's hue—on into the shadows, where something—the table, of course—shows like a grim bas-relief hewn out of the darkness, on to its ponderous top, where the candles…
It was upon the top of the table that the keen grey eyes came to rest—idly. The next moment his lordship's frame stiffened with a shock.
The radiance of two wax candles was illuminating the bitterness of death upon a man's face. It was an old face, long, gaunt, clean-shaven, and the ill-fitting wig that gaped about the shrunken temples gave it the queer pinched look which tells of a starved belly. Eyes red-rimmed and staring, a long thin nose, and an unearthly pallor made it displeasing: the dropped jaw, showing the toothless gums, made it repulsive.
The hair upon Mr. Justice Molehill's head began to rise.
For a moment the face stayed motionless. Then the grey lids flickered, and a trembling hand stole up out of the darkness to twitch at the lower lip. A paper upon the table appeared to claim the attention of those horrible eyes…. But not for long. Indeed, they had subjected the document to the very barest perusal, when, with a convulsive movement, the creature clawed at the paper, tore it with ravening hands and, clapping the fragments to its distorted mouth, bit and savaged it like a demoniac….
Hardened as he was to the spectacle of Rage dominant his lordship paled before this paroxysm of unearthly passion. All the agony of disappointed avarice, all the torment of mortification in defeat, all the frenzy of impotent fury, blazed in one hideous blend out of that frightful countenance. Could he have moved, the Judge would have crossed himself.
Then suddenly came a change. The passion ebbed out of the face, the paper fluttered out of the loosened fingers, the red-rimmed eyes took on another look. Snail-slow the trembling hand was travelling across the table….