Explore "Mr. Marx's Secret" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At a little before eight o'clock de Cartienne, Cecil, and I presented ourselves at the bar of the "Bull" Hotel, and inquired for Mr. Fothergill. We were shown at once by a waiter into a small private sitting-room, brilliantly illuminated and unmistakably cosy. Under the chandelier was a small round table glittering with plate and flowers; and, standing upon the hearthrug, critically surveying it, was a middle-aged, dapper-looking little man, in well-cut evening clothes, with a white camellia in his buttonhole.
His hair was slightly tinged with grey, but his moustache was still jet-black and elaborately curled and waxed. His forehead was low and his full red lips and slightly hooked nose gave him something of a Jewish appearance. He had just missed being handsome, and, similarly, had just missed being good form; at least, so it seemed to me from my first rapid survey, and I did not afterwards change my opinion.