By John Dickson Carr
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He was tall, a good three or four inches taller than Dr Grimaud, and of a medium - er - anatomical structure. ' 'Well - yes. That is to say, in one way, yes, and another no. ' During this questioning Rampole had been watching Dr Fell out of the tail of his eye. The doctor, his big cloak humped and his shovel - hat under one arm, had been lumbering about the room with annoyed digs of his cane at the carpet. He bent down to blink at things until his eye - glasses tumbled off his nose. He looked at the painting, along the rows of books, at the jade buffalo on the desk.
He lived, in fact, just round the corner at a solid old house on the west side of Russell Square. The other occupants of the house were his daughter Rosette, his housekeeper, Mme Dumont, his secretary, Stuart Mills, and a broken - down ex - teacher named Drayman, whom he kept as a sort of hanger - on to look after his books. But his few real cronies were to be found at a sort of club they had instituted at the Warwick Tavern in Museum Street. They met four or five nights in a week, an un - official conclave, in the snug back room reserved for that purpose.
She looked at Mills absent - mindedly, with a sort of vacant affection which showed almost in a smile. 'Yes, of course. He is a nice poor fool boy, and he means well. Do you not, Stuart? You must go on, by all means. ' Mills showed no anger, if he felt any. His eyelids flickered a few times, and he folded his arms. 'If it gives the Pythoness any pleasure to think so,' he sang imperturbably, 'I have no objection. But perhaps I had better continue. ' 'Ah, yes! He was not wearing his eye - glasses, which were hanging down by their cord; his sight is not good without them, and I am under the impression that he mistook the mask for a real face.
Hollow Man by John Dickson Carr