This thought had scarcely entered my mind when two men entered the room, who were certainly not of the ordinary type, and will need a few words of description; for both were destined, as my story will show, to have considerable influence over my life.

I will try to describe the more striking of the two first.

He was a young man.  Not more than thirty-five.  He was fairly tall, well built, and had evidently enjoyed the education and advantages of a man of wealth.  His hair was black as the raven’s wings, and was brushed in a heavy mass horizontally across his forehead.  His eyes were of a colour that did not accord with his black hair and swarthy complexion.  They were of an extremely light grey, and were tinted with a kind of green.  They were placed very close together, and, the bridge of the nose being narrow, they appeared sometimes as if only one eye looked upon you.  The mouth was well cut, the lips rather thin, which often parted, revealing a set of pearly white teeth.  There was something positively fascinating about the mouth, and yet it betrayed malignity—­cruelty.  He was perfectly self-possessed, stood straight, and had a soldier-like bearing.  I instinctively felt that this was a man of power, one who would endeavour to make his will law.  His movements were perfectly graceful, and from the flutter among the young ladies when he entered, I judged he had already spent some little time with them, and made no slight impression.

His companion was much smaller, and even darker than he was.  His every feature indicated that he was not an Englishman.  With small wiry limbs, black, restless, furtive eyes, rusty black hair, and a somewhat unhealthy colour in his face, he formed a great contrast to the man I have just tried to describe.  I did not like him.  He seemed to carry a hundred secrets around with him, and each one a deadly weapon he would some day use against any who might offend him.  He, too, gave you the idea of power, but it was the power of a subordinate.

Instinctively I felt that I should have more to do with these men than with the rest of the company present.

Although I have used a page of good paper in describing them, I was only a very few seconds in seeing and realizing what I have written.

Both walked up to us, and both smiled on Mrs. Temple, whereupon she introduced them.  The first had a peculiar name; at least, so it seemed to me.

“Mr. Herod Voltaire—­Mr. Justin Blake,” she said; and instantly we were looking into each other’s eyes, I feeling a strange kind of shiver pass through me.

The name of the smaller man was simply that of an Egyptian, “Aba Wady Kaffar.”  The guests called him Mr. Kaffar, and thus made it as much English as possible.

Scarcely had the formalities of introduction been gone through between the Egyptian and myself, when my eyes were drawn to the door, which was again opening.  Do what I would I could not repress a start, for, to my surprise, I saw my travelling companions enter with Miss Temple—­Gertrude Forrest looking more charming and more beautiful than ever, and beside her Miss Staggles, tall, gaunt, and more forbidding than when in the railway carriage.