The Professor then suddenly removed the green cardboard shade from the lamp. The discourteous intruder was now visible for his inspection.
He was a fair man of uncertain age, but could not be more than twenty-eight. He wore his flaxen hair rather long and ill-kempt; his face might have been handsome, but the flesh was white and flaccid; the features, though regular, devoid of character; the blue eyes had so little expression that a professed physiognomist would have found difficulty in ‘placing’ their possessor. His black clothes were shiny with age; his gait was shuffling and awkward.
‘My name, though it will not convey very much to you, is Frank Carrel. I am a scholar, an archæologist, a palæographer, and—other things besides.’
‘A beggar and a British Museum reader,’ was the mental observation of the Professor. The other seemed to read his thoughts.
‘You think I want pecuniary assistance; well, I do.’
‘I fear you have come to the wrong person, at the wrong time, and if I may say so, in the wrong way. I do not like to be disturbed at this hour. Will you kindly leave me this instant?’
Carrel’s manner changed and became more deferential.
‘If you will allow me to show you something on which I want your opinion, something I can leave with you, I will go away at once and come back to-morrow at any time you name.’
‘Very well,’ said the Professor, wearily, ready to compromise the matter for the moment.
From a small bag he was carrying Carrel produced a roll of papyrus. The Professor’s eyes gleamed; he held out his hands greedily to receive it, fixing a searching, suspicious glance on Carrel.