His nose was hawky; his eyes a Latin brown, alert and roving, though there was a hint of weariness in them, the pressure of long, racking hours of ceaseless vigilance.

His top hair was a glossy black inclined to curl; but the four days' growth of beard was as blond as a ripe chestnut burr.
In spite of this mark of vagabondage there were elements of beauty in the face.

The expanse of the brow and the shape of the head were intellectual.

The mouth was pleasure-loving, but the nose and the jaw neutralized this.
After he had towelled himself he reached down for a brown leather pouch which lay on the three-legged bathroom stool.

It was patently a tobacco pouch, but there was evidently something inside more precious than Saloniki.