"Look at that little man at the small table, on the left there in the corner—the one that looks like an Assyrian,—how does he strike you?"
Tom followed the direction indicated by Wallion and quickly discovered the individual mentioned.
He was a man with narrow shoulders who ate and drank with philosophical complacency, and without speaking to any one. His appearance was calculated to attract attention, his raven black, wavy beard was parted down the middle and formed a sort of shiny chest-protector under the sickly, thin-lipped mouth, above which was a long, straight nose, starting from an abnormally high, arched forehead of triangular shape, fringed by untidy, unkempt black locks, while his eyebrows resembled streaks of soot.
"Who is he?" asked Tom, "a Persian philosopher?"
"No, in the list of passengers he figures as a Greek antiquary; his name is Ricardo Ferail, which does not in the least sound like Greek."
"He seems to interest you?"
"He does, I should rather like to see him run," replied Wallion absently; "but do look at Madame, I believe she is scolding."
Madame Lorraine had moved closer to Doctor Corman, and was talking earnestly to the Doctor who several times shook his head.
Some of those sitting near began to notice them, and Madame stopped talking with an angry shrug of her ample white shoulders.
At that moment something very strange occurred. The Greek antiquary, whose heavy eyelids had until now been cast down on his plate, suddenly raised his dark, velvety orbs and turned them towards Elaine with a sinister, dreamy look. Elaine started visibly as if she had come into contact with some loathsome object, and presently she got up hurriedly, said something to the Doctor and left the saloon.