When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel
and wrapped it round Desmond's head.
"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
just to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Street
ready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want to
worry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can
grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for you
every now and then."
There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crook
gently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the
mirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the
gradual metamorphosis.
"A mirror only confuses me," said the expert, breathing hard as
he delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picture
firm in my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face.
Somehow a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak
altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied
a dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually to
survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes
with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then he
fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey
rubber.
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