no better
word can be used than "personality." Had he been asked afterwards to
describe him, he would not have dwelt upon his physical appearance at
all, except only in so far as it suggested that subtle power which made
him remarkable. For he was remarkable. Before he spoke a word,
Briarfield felt it. It was not that his face told him anything. The chin
and the mouth were covered by a thick black beard and moustache, while
the forehead was hidden from him by the Turkish fez which he wore.
Nevertheless, the face was one which he knew he should never forget. The
stranger's eyes were large, but they were seldom opened wide, because of
his peculiar habit of half closing them. In the lamplight they looked
black, but they might easily be any other colour. Moreover, the
protruding forehead threw them in a shadow. His skin was much tanned, as
though he had lived his life beneath a tropical sun; his large nervous
hands were also almost as brown as an Indian's. There was nothing
Oriental in his attire, excepting his fez, and yet he suggested the
East. Even the voice was different from the English voice. It was, if
one may use the terms, more subtle, more fluid. Moreover, he seldom
raised his voice; even when he was deeply interested, he never showed
his interest by eagerness or loudness of speech. His hearers felt it,
rather than heard or saw it.

No one would have spoken of him as a talkative man, and yet he spoke
freely--at least, he seemed to; nevertheless, even while he was
speaking, Herbert Briarfield was wondering what he was really thinking.

"The life here must be somewhat strange to you, Signor Ricordo," said
Briarfield, after their coffee was brought.

"In what way?"

The question seemed natural, and yet, while he spoke in low tones, it
suggested a kind of anger.

"Herr Truebner tells me you have spent your life in the East. I do not
know much about the East, but I have called at Tunis, and have spent a
few days in Cairo. It therefore struck me that to one who has lived his
life there, a Devonshire village must seem strange."

"Did it never occur to you, Mr. Briarfield"--he uttered the name
hesitatingly, as though he were not certain about the exact
pronunciation--"that the differences which one sees in various parts of
the world all lie on the surface?"

"No, I cannot say that. From what I have seen, they are deep."

"How deep?"

"Of course, it is impossible to calculate that."

"I do not think so. What i