"Yes, I know he is," he added quickly, as he caught the scent of a cigarette.

"Is he alone?
All right, don't trouble to announce me." He walked quickly across the passage, entered a room and, closing the door behind him, turned the key in the lock.
A young man was sprawling in a low chair before the fire.

He was a good-looking young man, very fair, with rather thin hair, parted in the middle; his eyes were blue and somewhat prominent, his mouth weak and sensual; he was in evening-dress, and presented a definite type of the young man about town.
As he turned his head at the click of the lock and saw his visitor, his face flushed hotly, his under-lip drooped, his eyes opened widely, and he clutched at the arms of the chair.

Fear was written all over him in large letters.

There was silence for a moment or two; then, with a catch of his breath, he rose and involuntarily muttered the other man's name.
He also held out his hand; but Dene, ignoring it, seated himself on the table and, pointing to the chair, said, curtly, but without anger: "Sit down, Heyton.