“You must not think to deceive me again, young gentleman,” said Fochard. He rearranged his elaborate shirt frill and the huge ruffles of lace which he wore at his wrists, and smiled. “There sits Siki, bravely before us,” he continued. “But tell me what you think of the other two.”
“They look to me like rascals,” answered Ethan, promptly.
“Ah!” and the secret agent seemed greatly interested. “You have studied physiognomy then.”
But Ethan shook his head.
“Ah! that is a pity! The study of the human countenance is a great and vital thing; all men, especially those engaged in duties that bring them into contact with the motives and secret doings of other men should study this grand science.”
He seemed to be upon a subject which interested him greatly, and continued:
“By it we are forearmed, safeguarded. We at once know the tendencies of strangers, and so it saves us many disasters in our affairs; for those whom this philosophy warns us against we do not trust.”
“I suppose not,” answered Ethan, vaguely.
“It is a matter of great ease,” went on the man, crossing his silk stockinged legs and smoothing his ruffles with one many-ringed hand, “to discover the tendencies of our friends there at the door, for they carry their vocations plainly writ upon their faces. Note the leaner of the two Frenchmen—the pointed and protruding jaw, the outstanding ears, the eyes set close together, the low brow, the nose slightly hooked. It is a countenance whose message is unmistakable. To one who knows it cries out ceaselessly—beware, beware!”
Ethan nodded; science or no science he knew that the stranger spoke the truth.