It was as unbelievable as was the new Temple Barholm himself. And how unconcerned the fellow looked! Perhaps the man he had supplanted was no more to him than a scarcely remembered name, if he was as much as that. Then Tembarom, pacing slowly by his side, hands in pockets, eyes on the walk, spoke:
“Did you ever see Jem Temple Barholm?” he asked.
It was like a thunderbolt. He said it as though he were merely carrying his previous remarks on to their natural conclusion; but Palliser felt himself so suddenly unadjusted, so to speak, that he palpably hesitated.
“Did you?” his companion repeated.
“I knew him well,” was the answer made as soon as readjustment was possible.
“Remember just how he looked?”
“Perfectly. He was a striking fellow. Women always said he had fascinating eyes.”
“Sort of slant downward on the outside corners—and black eyelashes sorter sweeping together?”
Palliser turned with a movement of surprise.
“How did you know? It was just that odd sort of thing.”