For instead of
the young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was
wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly,
heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The
disguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who
had effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And the
bewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did not
lie so much in the eternal adjuncts, the false beard, the
pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United
Service Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If
such miracles were possible, then he could surmount the other
difficulties as well.
"Crook," he said, "I think you've done wonders. What do you say,
Matthews?"
"I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day, sir," answered
the clerk, "but nothing better than this. It's a masterpiece,
Crook, that's what it is."
"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I
must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
enemy, Matthews?"
"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach
Cannon Street by three.
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