The tall man in glasses looked too human for a lawyer, too intelligent for a schoolmaster, and too well-dressed for an ordinary medical man.

Colwyn, versed in judging men swiftly from externals, noting the urbane, somewhat pompous face, the authoritative, professional pose, the well-shaped, plump white hands, and the general air of well-being and prosperity which exuded from the whole man, placed him as a successful practitioner in the more lucrative path of medicine--probably a fashionable Harley Street specialist.
Colwyn returned to his scrutiny of the young man at the alcove table, and he and his companion studied him intently for some time in silence.
But the young man, for the moment, was comparatively quiet, gazing moodily through the open window over the waters of the North Sea, an untasted sole in front of him, and an impassive waiter pouring out his coffee as though the spectacle of a young man sticking a knife into the table-cloth was a commonplace occurrence at the Grand Hotel, and all in the day's doings.

When the waiter had finished pouring out the coffee and noiselessly departed, the young man tasted it with an indifferent air, pushed it from him, and resumed his former occupation of staring out of the window.
"He seems quiet enough now," observed Colwyn, turning to his companion.
"What do you think is the matter with him--shell-shock ?" "I would not care to hazard a definite opinion on so cursory an observation," returned the other, in a dry, reticent, ultra-professional manner.

"But I will go so far as to say that I do not think it is a case of shell-shock.

If it is what I suspect, that first attack was the precursor of another, possibly a worse attack.