On a table in the middle of the room a checkerboard's white and black belligerents stood at truce, and from the interrupted game rose a thick-set man of medium height, with dark hair and a close-trimmed mustache, who came toward him inquiringly.
"Good-evening.

I am Mr.Bassett.Have a chair." Harwood felt the guilt of his intrusion upon a scene so sheltered and domestic.

The father had evidently been playing checkers with his son; the mother's chair still rocked by another table on which stood a reading lamp.
Harwood stated his errand, and Bassett merely nodded, offering none of those protestations of surprise and humility, those pleas of unworthiness that his predecessors on Dan's list had usually insisted upon.

Dan made mental note at once of the figure before him.

Bassett's jaw was square and firm--power was manifest there, unmistakably, and his bristling mustache suggested combativeness.