They had a downward, bitter curve, as though they often sneered at life.

The eyes were keen as a bird's, stone-grey under overhanging black brows.
He held a newspaper in one bony hand, but he was not apparently reading, for his eyes were fixed.

The shining suits of armour standing like sentinels on each side of the fireplace were not more rigid than he.
There came a slight sound from the other end of the hall, and instantly and very sharply Sir Beverley turned his head.
"Piers!" Cheerily Piers' voice made answer.

He shut the door behind him and came forward as he spoke.

"Here I am, sir! I'm sorry I'm late.