He sat down on a low chair by the fire, his elbows on his knees and his shoulders hunched up, and the leaping firelight played queer tricks with the shadows on his bearded face, making him look old and seamed with coarse and innumerable furrows.

But for the blaze the room was filled with the yellow darkness that was thickening outside; yet we did not think of turning on the lights.
"What have you done ?" I asked.
"Locked the stuff up again," he replied.

"This afternoon I'll bring a portmanteau and take it away." "What are you going to do with it ?" "Leave that to me," said he.
What was in his mind I did not know, but, for the moment, I was very glad to leave it to him.

In a vague way I comforted myself with the reflection that Jaffery was a specialist in crises.

It was his job, as he would have said.