Explore "The Peacock of Jewels" by Fergus Hume on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was indeed Mr. Randolph Vernon Sorley who spread out his hands to the fire in a crouching attitude, but woefully changed from the debonair and juvenile gentleman of former days. His aggressively shabby overcoat and worn boots showed that he had some idea of disguising himself, since he had both money and clothes at his command to dress better. He was unshaven, his cheeks and chin being covered with a silvery stubble, and in his sunken eyes there lurked a hunted look. The man looked both broken up and broken down, and had aged at least twenty years since Alan had last set eyes on him. The terror he displayed when the young man entered the room showed how apprehensive he was of being arrested by the police.
"Oh, it's you, Alan," he gasped with a sigh of relief, when the newcomers, in sheer surprise, called out his name. "I'm glad it's only you and your friend."