The other was still staring, his thin face sallow beneath a stiff
thatch of gray hair. He was a small, slender man, with his face covered
with a fine-spun web of wrinkles. After a pause he said, "I am Doctor
Yamada."
Dean frowned, puzzled. Abruptly he remembered his uncle's cable of
the day before. An odd, unreasonable irritation began to mount within
him, and he said, more bruskly than he had intended, "This isn't a
professional call, I hope. I've already----"
"Your uncle--you are Mr. Dean?--cabled me. He was rather worried."
Doctor Yamada glanced around almost furtively.
Dean felt distaste stir within him, and his irritation increased.
"My uncle is rather eccentric, I'm afraid. There's nothing for him to
worry about. I'm sorry you had your trip for nothing."
Doctor Yamada did not seem to take offense at Dean's attitude. Rather,
a strange expression of sympathy showed for a moment on his small face.
"Do you mind if I come in?" he asked, and moved forward confidently.
Short of barring his way, Dean had no means of stopping him, and
ungraciously led his guest to the room where he had spent the night,
motioning him to a chair while he busied himself with a coffee-pot.
Yamada sat motionless, silently watching Dean. Then without preamble he
said, "Your uncle is a great man, Mr. Dean."