But he was not fond of women, and only in love with his business.  A hard life in the seamy places of the world had made him something of a cynic.  He had always appreciated his own singular powers, and consciousness of ability, combined with a steadfast patience and unconquerable devotion to his “art,” as he called it, had brought him through twenty years in the police force.  He began at the bottom and reached the top.  He was the son of a small shopkeeper, and now that his father was dead his mother still ran a little eating-house for her own satisfaction and occupation.

Peter Hardcastle was forty.  He had already made arrangements to leave Scotland Yard and set up, single-handed, as a private inquiry agent.  The mystery of Chadlands would be the last case to occupy him as a Government servant.  In a measure he regretted the fact, for the death of Captain Thomas May, concerning which every known particular was now in his possession, attracted him, and he knew the incident had been widely published.  It was a popular mystery, and, as a man of business, he well understood the professional value of such sensations to the man who resolves the puzzle.  His attitude toward the case appeared at the outset, and Sir Walter, who had been deeply impressed by the opinions of the dead man’s father, and even unconsciously influenced by them, now found himself in the presence of a very different intellect.  There was nothing in the least superstitious about Peter Hardcastle.  He uttered the views of a remorseless realist, and at the outset committed himself to certain definite assumptions.  The inhabitants of the manor house were informed that a friend of Sir Walter’s had come to visit Chadlands, and they saw nothing to make them doubt it.  For Peter was a great actor.  He had mixed with all classes, and the detective had the imitative cleverness to adapt himself in speech and attire to every society.  He even claimed that he could think with the brains of anybody and adapt his inner mind, as well as his outer shape, to the changing environment of his activities.  He appreciated the histrionics that operate out of sight, and would adopt the blank purview of the ignorant, the deeper attitude of the cultured, or the solid posture of that class whose education and inherent opinions is based upon tradition.  He had made a study of the superficial etiquette and manners and customs of what is called “the best” society, and knew its ways as a naturalist patiently masters the habits of a species.

Chadlands saw a small, fair man with scanty hair, a clean-shaven face, a rather feminine cast of features, a broad forehead, slate-grey eyes, and a narrow, lipless mouth which revealed very fine white teeth when he spoke.  It was a colorless face and challenged no attention; but it was a face that served as an excellent canvas, and few professional actors had ever surpassed Peter in the art of making up their features.

Similarly he could disguise his voice, the natural tones of which were low, monotonous, and of no arrestive quality.  Mr. Hardcastle surprised Sir Walter by his commonplace appearance and seeming youth, for he looked ten years younger than the forty he had lived.  A being so undistinguished rather disappointed his elder, for the master of Chadlands had imagined that any man of such wide celebrity must offer superficial marks of greatness.