There was a kind of archway, with a sham portcullis, and a terrace with battlements which looked as if they were made of stucco.
We drew up at a Gothic front door, where a thin middle-aged man in a shooting-jacket was waiting.
As we moved into the lighted hall I got a good look at our host.

He was very lean and brown, with the stoop in the shoulder that one gets from being constantly on horseback.

He had untidy grizzled hair and a ragged beard, and a pair of pleasant, short-sighted brown eyes.
'Welcome, my Colonel,' he said.

'Is this the friend you spoke of ?' 'This is the Dutchman,' said Stumm.

'His name is Brandt.