He had the appearance of a man who had once been stout and well built, but who was now barely recovered from a long illness.

The flesh hung in little bags underneath his bloodshot eyes, his mouth twitched continually, and the hand which rested on the table trembled.

He wore a scanty grey moustache, which failed to hide a weak thin mouth, and a very obvious wig concealed his baldness.

His clothes had seen plenty of service and his linen was doubtful.

He had evidently ordered some brandy immediately on his entrance, and his eyes met mine just as he was in the act of raising the glass to his lips.