There was a pleasant odour of tobacco about the
room. Indeed, it was in such glowing contrast to the chilly poverty of
the hall that Shorthouse already was conscious of a distinct rise in the
thermometer of his spirits.
Then he turned and saw the Jew standing in the doorway with his eyes
fixed upon him, somewhere about the middle button of his waistcoat. He
presented a strangely repulsive appearance that somehow could not be
attributed to any particular detail, and the secretary associated him in
his mind with a monstrous black bird of prey more than anything else.
"My time is short," he said abruptly; "I hope Mr. Garvey will not keep
me waiting."
A strange flicker of a smile appeared on the Jew's ugly face and
vanished as quickly as it came. He made a sort of deprecating bow by way
of reply. Then he blew out the taper and went out, closing the door
noiselessly behind him.
Shorthouse was alone. He felt relieved. There was an air of obsequious
insolence about the old Jew that was very offensive. He began to take
note of his surroundings. He was evidently in the library of the house,
for the walls were covered with books almost up to the ceiling.
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