She shuddered and choked down a sob. “He is a dreadful-looking man,” she said. “I loathed him at the first glance: a beetle-browed, hook-nosed wretch, with a face like that of some horrible bird of prey. But I couldn’t see him very distinctly, for it is rather dark in the lobby, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat, pulled down over his brows.”
“Would you know him again? And can you give a description of him that would be of use to the police?”
“I am sure I should know him again,” she said with a shudder. “It was a face that one could never forget. A hideous face! The face of a demon. I can see it now, and it will haunt me, sleeping and waking, until I die.”
Her words ended with a catch of the breath, and she looked piteously into my face with wide, terrified eyes. I took her trembling hand and once more drew her head to my shoulder.
“You mustn’t think that, dear,” said I. “You are all unstrung now, but these terrors will pass. Try to tell me quietly just what this man was like. What was his height, for instance?”
“He was not very tall. Not much taller than I. And he was rather slightly built.”
“Could you see whether he was dark or fair?”
“He was rather dark. I could see a shock of hair sticking out from under his hat, and he had a moustache with turned-up ends and a beard; a rather short beard.”
“And now as to his face. You say he had a hooked nose?”
“Yes; a great, high-bridged nose like the beak of some horrible bird. And his eyes seemed to be deep-set under heavy brows with bushy eyebrows. The face was rather thin, with high cheek-bones; a fierce, scowling, repulsive face.”