They are quite white--cut close, but quite white, so white they attracted the notice of his companion, who stole more than one look at them as he chatted on in what had become almost a monologue, so little did Roberts join in the conversation.
Finally the Curator paused, and stealing another look at that white head, remarked anxiously: "Have you not grown gray very suddenly?
I don't remember your being whiter than myself the day I dined with you just preceding the horrible occurrence at the museum." "I have been growing gray for a year," rejoined the other.

"My father was white at forty; I am just forty-three." "It becomes you, and yet--Roberts, you have taken this matter too much to heart.

We were not to blame in any way, unless it was in having such deadly weapons within reach.

How could one suppose----" "Yes, how could one suppose!" echoed the director.

"And the mystery of it! The police seem no nearer solving the problem now than on the night they practised archery in the galleries.