was lustrous and brilliant as burnished copper. But the suspicion would have been without justification, in the same way as would[213] have been the notion that the very pronounced colour on the woman's cheeks was artificial too. [213] She seemed to hesitate a little, and just as Paul was about to crave pardon for his unceremonious intrusion (the servant had merely opened the door for him and he had entered unannounced) a man, dressed, like Paul, in ordinary tweeds, stepped quickly out of the darkness into the rays of the candelabra. For a moment he gazed at Paul with curiosity without addressing him. Paul saw a man with an olive face set with dark, almond-shaped eyes beneath a pair of oblique and finely-pencilled brows; his nose was aquiline and assertive, his mouth shrewd and mean and scarcely hidden by a carefully-trained and very faintly-waxed moustache. He was ex[214]ceedingly tall and astonishingly spare in build. [214] "Ah, a traveller, I see," the Russian said at length in careful English. "You are most welcome, I assure you, sir. We are delighted to have your company. It is a pleasure which seldom comes to us in this lonely spot. My name," he added, stretching out his hand to Paul, "is Boris Ivanovitch, and this lady," turning to his companion, "is—my sister." Paul bowed to the red-haired woman. "Aldringham is my name," he said, as he grasped the gentleman's outstretched hand. He did not like the look in the heavy-lidded eyes of his host, and some quick instinct prevented him from giving his own name—so he fell back upon that of his mother's family. And now a third occupant of the house[215] entered—a tall young man of the most unpleasant appearance. [215] "My cousin Michael," said Ivanovitch in an even voice, "Michael, this is Mr. Aldringham, an English traveller." The newcomer had very light blue eyes, closely set together, and a large, red, hawk-like nose. His hands too were large and red, with immense knuckles and brutal, short, stubbed nails. Paul took one of the huge red hands with a barely repressed shudder. It was cold and clammy and strong as a vise. "If ever," thought the baronet to himself, "I have touched the hand of a murderer, I have touched one now."
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