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Clouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer), 1870-1944

"The Man from the Clouds"

My first impression of Mr. Rendall was
of height, and a certain quiet, formidable quality. He was grey-haired,
with a close-clipped grizzled moustache, loose clothes as though he had
shrunk a little in girth, and the unmistakable air of a man who had seen
considerably more of the world than the island of Ransay. He received me
quite politely and hospitably, but with every moment that passed I grew
more acutely conscious of something deterrent behind his courtesy. A
sense of a strong personality in the background, not actually hostile as
yet, but ironic and critical, set me instinctively and instantly on
guard. Not that I actually suspected the man; but to take him straightway
into my confidence was simply impossible. A man of another temperament
might have done so--and quite possibly have been right; but his effect on
me was like tapping a limpet.
I gave him my name and then I said in a quiet confidential way,
"Forgive this intrusion, Mr. Rendall, but the fact is my ship has
evidently been called away."
I glanced towards the window, and following my look he could see the
smoke of the cruiser just visible on the horizon. He gave a little nod
but said nothing.
"I was landed last night on a certain piece of business," I went on,
"and it is no part of that business to make myself conspicuous, and so I
have taken the liberty of coming to your house.


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