The valet had trimmed him up nicely, and, at his request, had placed a small glass in his hands that he might look at his face.
And a very pale, thin, haggard, cadaverous countenance it was to contemplate. And the clean-shaved chin and the short-cropped hair added nothing to its attractions.
“By my life! I look more like a newly-discharged convict than a decent citizen or anything else,” muttered Alexander to himself as he handed back the glass.
“Any more orders, sir?” inquired the valet.
“No—yes; now that Dietz is off for a holiday, I will take some recreation too, in my own way—Simms!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know whether they keep the files of the London papers here in the house?”
“I can inquire, sir.”
“Do so.”
The valet left the room, and, after an absence of a few minutes, returned with a pile of newspapers in his hands.