From the first I took to him greatly, and we mutually expressed friendship towards each other. We were both bachelors, and I saw that we had many tastes in common. His airy carelessness of manner and his overflowing good-humour attracted me, while it was plain that he was the devoted slave of the pretty Asta. Wheaton, the butler, a grey-faced, grey-haired, and rather superior person, called Shaw in to speak on the telephone, and I was left alone with Nicholson on the terrace. "Have you known Asta long?" he asked me suddenly. My reply was a little evasive, for I could not well see the motive of his question--if he were not jealous of her. "I understand from Shaw that you have known him quite a long time, eh?" "Oh yes," I replied lamely. "We've been acquainted for some little time." Nicholson looked me straight in the face with his deep-set eyes unusually serious. Then, after a pause, he said-- "Look here, Kemball, you and I are going to be friends as our fathers were. I want to speak very frankly with you." "Well?" I asked, a trifle surprised at his sudden change of manner. "I want to ask you a plain honest question. What is your opinion of Harvey Shaw?" "My opinion," I echoed. "Well, I hardly know. He's rather a good fellow, I think, as far as I know. Generous, happy--" "Oh yes, keeps a good cellar, is hospitable, very loyal to his friends, and all that," he interrupted. "But--but what I want you to tell me is, what you really think of him. Is his rather austere exterior only a mask?" "I don't quite follow your meaning," was my reply. "May I speak to you in entire confidence?" "You certainly may. I shall not abuse it." "Well, for some time I have wanted to discuss Shaw with somebody who knows him, but I have had no opportunity. Because he gives money freely in the district, supports everything, and never questions a tradesman's bill, he is naturally highly popular. Nobody will say a word against him. Harvey Shaw can do no wrong. But it is the same everywhere in a rural district. Money alone buys popularity and a good name." "Why should any word be said against him?" I queried. "Is he not your friend, as well as mine?" "Granted, but--well, he has been here several years, and I have known Asta all the time. Indeed, I confess I am very fond of her. But were it not for her I would never darken his doors." "Why?" I asked, much surprised. "Well," he said with hesitation, lowering his voice. "Because there's something wrong about him." "Something wrong? What do you mean?" "What I allege. I take a great interest in physiognomy, and the face of Harvey Shaw is the face of a worker of evil." "Then you have suspicion of him, eh? Of what?" "I hardly know. But I tell you this perfectly openly and frankly. I do not like those covert glances which he sometimes gives Asta. They are glances of hatred."