Another thing, he seemed to me a terribly cold-blooded devil.

He was always slapping people on the back and calling them 'dear old fellows,' but I happened to see a small interview once between him and one of his servants.
Perhaps I ought not to mention it, but the thing struck me unpleasantly.
It was below the club verandah, and nobody happened to be about except myself, who was dozing after lunch.

Marker was rating a servant in some Border tongue--Chil, it sounded like; and I remember wondering how he could have picked it up.

I saw the whole thing through a chink in the floor, and I noticed that the servant's face was as grey as a brown hillman's can be.

Then the fellow suddenly caught his arm and twisted it round, the man's face working with pain, though he did not dare to utter a sound.