Lord Lashmore was a big, blonde man, fresh coloured, and having his nearly white hair worn close cut and his moustache trimmed in the neat military fashion. For a fair man, he had eyes of a singular colour. They were of so dark a shade of brown as to appear black: southern eyes; lending to his personality an oddness very striking.
When he was shown into Dr. Cairn's library, the doctor regarded him with that searching scrutiny peculiar to men of his profession, at the same time inviting the visitor to be seated.
Lashmore sat down in the red leathern armchair, resting his large hands upon his knees, with the fingers widely spread. He had a massive dignity, but was not entirely at his ease.
Dr. Cairn opened the conversation, in his direct fashion.
"You come to consult me, Lord Lashmore, in my capacity of occultist rather than in that of physician?"
"In both," replied Lord Lashmore; "distinctly, in both."
"Sir Elwin Groves is attending you for certain throat wounds—"
Lord Lashmore touched the high stock which he was wearing.
"The scars remain," he said. "Do you wish to see them?"
"I am afraid I must trouble you."