One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. He might solve the riddle.
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