composed of two thin lips, bent down at the corners, was cruel and sensuous, Val decided, as he watched his back retreating into the living room.
“To-morrow then,” he said to the girl.
She nodded her head. “Yes, to-morrow—if you still care to meet me.”
“Still care—I don’t care for anything else in the world. Miss Pomeroy,” he insisted, and she smiled at his ardor. “To-morrow, then.”
He opened the door. As he turned to take her extended hand he glanced through the drawn portières into the living room, where the big man had stationed himself at one of the windows and was inspecting the street outside. Val, looking at him, could not help a gasp of astonishment. Having removed his hands from his pockets, the man was standing with his back to them in a negligent attitude, and a singular, creepy feeling came over Val.
The strange visitor had no hands. His arms ended in two stumpy wrists.
