And, after a while, Barnabas found voice, though his voice was very
hoarse and uneven.
"I think," said he slowly, "yes, I think my cane could not have a
worthier end than splintering on your villain's back, Mr. Quigly."
But, even as Barnabas advanced with very evident purpose, a tall
figure stood framed in the open doorway.
"Ah, Quigly,--pray what is all this?" a chill, incisive voice
demanded. Barnabas turned, and lowering the cane, stood looking
curiously at the speaker. A tall, slender man he was, with a face
that might have been any age,--a mask-like face, smooth and long,
and devoid of hair as it was of wrinkles; an arresting face, with
its curving nostrils, thin-lipped, close-shut mouth, high, prominent
brow, and small, piercingly-bright eyes; quick eyes, that glinted
between their red-rimmed, hairless lids, old in their experience of
men and the ways of men. For the rest, he was clad in a rich yet
sober habit, unrelieved by any color save for the gleaming seals at
his fob, and the snowy lace at throat and wrist; his hair--evidently
a wig--curled low on either cheek, and his hands were well cared for,
with long, prehensile fingers.
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