Neither Gideon nor Dawlish had appeared, nor had places been set for them, but the moment that Prenderby sat down and the number of the guests was completed, the door opened and the two men who most interested Abbershaw in the house that day walked into the room.
Dawlish came first, and in the sunlight his face appeared more unprepossessing than it had seemed on the evening before. For the first time it became apparent what an enormous man he was.
He was fat to the point of grossness, but tall with it, and powerfully built. The shock of long grey hair, brushed straight back from the forehead, hung almost to his shoulders, and the eyes, which seemed to be the only live thing in his face, were bright now and peculiarly arresting.
Gideon, who came in behind him, looked small and insignificant by comparison. He was languid and sinuous as before, and he glanced over the group of young people round the table with a thoughtful, mildly appraising eye, as if he were estimating their combined weight – or strength.
Wyatt looked up as they came in and bade them a polite ‘Good morning’. To everyone’s surprise they ignored him.
Dawlish moved ponderously to the top of the table, where he stood looking round at the astonished faces, with no expression on his own.
‘Let there be silence,’ he said.
The words were so utterly unexpected and out of keeping with the situation that it is probable that a certain amount of amusement would have greeted them had not the tone in his deep Teutonic voice been singularly menacing.
As it was, the silence was complete, and the German went on, his expression still unchanged so that it seemed that his voice came to them through a mask.
‘Something has been lost,’ he said, dividing the words up as he uttered them and giving equal emphasis to each. ‘It must be returned to me. There is no need to explain what it is. Whoever has stolen it will know of what I speak.’