Paul Quentin by Fred M. White — Read

Dugdale nodded, but wondered where he had heard the name of Quentin before. It came to him later as he strolled back towards his humble rooms. He recollected that it had appeared in the papers a good deal of late. Nobody seemed to know quite who he was or whence he came. Even his nationality was more or less obscure. But he was supposed to be rich and eccentric. He was credited with the invention of more than one scientific appliance, and was supposed to be in England now with a view to developing something or other which was to revolutionise the uses of electricity. The man had travelled a vast deal in foreign parts and was believed to possess an intimate knowledge of the East and its mysterious ways; in fact, so Dugdale had gathered, he was a scientific adventurer, ambitious to make his mark. And, Dugdale admitted, a man with a face like Quentin's was capable of any intellectual achievement. His fascinating yet curiously repellant countenance was constantly before Dugdale on his way homewards.

He was conscious, too, that he did not feel all the gratitude he should. He was glad enough to get the money; indeed, at the moment he would have taken it from anybody. In a thoroughly illogical way, however, he wished that it had come from someone else.