В новой книге Фрайни Фишер встречается с неким Рупертом Шеффилдом, который читает лекцию по "науке дедукции" (И конечно, у него есть спутник, безнадежно влюбленный в него Джон Уилсон, бывший военный медик, раненый в ногу). Описывается он так:
A beautiful voice. A voice that was English, educated without being shrill, deep, rich and perfectly pitched. A voice which could only be compared to Irish coffee with chocolate on top.
She looked at the speaker.
Oh, my.
He was tall and slender. He moved with the assurance of a dancer, occasionally flinging out a hand for emphasis or to point out an equation on the lantern slide. He had a mop of dark curls and a long, pale, sculptured face. Greek? If so, Ancient Greek. Strong. Disdainful, as though he knew that his audience couldn’t possibly be bright enough to really appreciate him. And the oddest eyes that Phryne had ever seen. Liquid, quick, set at a cat-like angle, chillingly observant and, Phryne could swear, in some lights lavender or silver.