There was a growing something about him which commanded attention, a certainty of poise which could not be mistaken for sham.

A scoundrel he might be, but a cool brain was at work inside his head--a brain not easily disturbed by unimportant things, he decided.

He disliked the man.

As an agent of John Graham Alan looked upon him as an enemy, and as an acquaintance of Mary Standish he was as much of a mystery as the girl herself.

And only now, in his cabin, was Alan beginning to sense the presence of a real authority behind Rossland's attitude.
He was not curious.