A silent witness
post in the porter’s lodge, which, as you know, commands the whole
street outside the gates.”
“And what have I got to do?”
“First of all, you will put your tooth brush in your pocket--never
mind about your razor--and let me try on your hat, in case we have to
pad the lining. Then, when you have seen your friend start off in
pursuit and are sure the coast is clear, you will make straight for my
chambers and wait there for me.”
“And supposing the chappie doesn’t start off in pursuit? Supposing he
twigs the imposture?”
“Then the plain-clothes man will go out and threaten to arrest him for
loitering with intent to commit a felony. That would soon move him on
out of the neighbourhood, and the officer might accompany him some
distance and try to get his address. Meanwhile, you would be off to
King’s Bench Walk.”
“But wouldn’t it be simpler to run the Johnnie in, in any case? Then
we should know all about him.”
“No, it wouldn’t do. The police wouldn’t actually make an arrest
without an information; and, if they did proceed, they would want me
to appear. That wouldn’t suit me at all. Until we obtain some fresh
evidence, I don’t want this man to get any suspicion that the case is
being investigated. And now I think the time has come for a move. Let
us go to the cloak-room and see if your hat fits me sufficiently
well.”
It was not a good fit, being just a shade small; but, as it was a soft
felt, this was not a vital defect. The overcoat fitted well enough,
though a trifle long in the sleeves, and when Thorndyke was fully
arrayed in this borrowed plumage, his back view, so far as I could
judge, was indistinguishable from my own.
“If you will take out your toothbrush and hand me your suit-case,”
said he, “I will send for a hansom, and then we will watch the
progress of events from the dining-room window.”
I handed him the green canvas case and we returned to the dining-room
and there, when he had ordered the cab, we took up a position at the
window, screened from observation by the wire blinds.
“Our friend,” said Thorndyke, “was walking towards the right hand end
of the street when we saw him last. As the cabstand is at the left
hand end, we may hope to look upon his face once again.”
As he spoke, the air was rent by the shriek of the cab-whistle, and
the leading hansom began immediately to bear down on the club. It had
hardly come to rest at our door when a figure appeared from the
opposite direction, advancing at a brisk walk on our side of the road.
I recognized him instantly as the man to whom Thorndyke had directed
my attention, and watched him closely, as he approached, to see if I
could identify him with the man who had shadowed Sylvia and me at the
picture gallery; but, though he passed within a few yards of the
window, and I felt no doubt that he was the same man, I could trace no
definite resemblance. It is true, that while actually passing the
club, he averted his face somewhat; but I had a good view of him
within an easy distance, and the face that I then saw was certainly
not the face of the man at the gallery. The skilfulness of the
make-up--assuming it to be really a disguise--was incredible, and I
remarked on it to Thorndyke.
“Yes,” he agreed, “a really artistic make-up is apt to surprise the
uninitiated. And that reminds me that Polton has instructions to make
a few trifling alterations in your own appearance.”
I stared at him aghast. “You don’t mean to say,” I exclaimed, “that
you contemplate making me up?”
“We won’t discuss the question now,” he replied a little evasively.
“You talk it over with Polton. It is time for me to go now, as our
quarry has considerately acted up to our expectations. He little knows
what confusion of our plans he would have occasioned by simply staying
at the other end of the street.”
The spy had, in fact, now halted opposite the cabstand and was
apparently making some notes in a pocket-book, facing, meanwhile, in
our direction. With a few parting instructions to me, Thorndyke picked
up the suit-case and hurried out, and I saw him dart down the
steps--with his face turned somewhat to the right--and stand for a few
seconds at the edge of the pavement with his back to the cabstand, but
in full view, looking at his watch as if considering some appointment.
Suddenly he sprang into the cab and, pushing up the trap, gave the
driver his instructions and handed up the fare. At the same moment I
saw the unknown shadower hail a hansom, and, scrambling to the
footboard, give some brief directions to the driver. Then Thorndyke’s
cabman touched his horse with the whip, and away he went at a smart
trot; but hardly had the cab turned the first corner when the second
hansom rattled past the club in hot pursuit.
I was about to turn away from the window when a tall, well-dressed man
ran down the steps and immediately signalled to the cabstand with his
stick. Thinking it probable that this was the plain-clothes policeman,
I stopped to watch; and when I had seen him enter the cab and drive
off in the same direction as the other two, I decided that the show
was over and that it was time for me to take my departure; which I
did, after stuffing a couple of envelopes into the lining of
Thorndyke’s hat, to prevent it from slipping down towards my ears.
That my arrival at number 5a, King’s Bench Walk was not quite
unexpected I gathered not only from the fact that the “oak” stood wide
open, revealing the inner door, but from the instantaneous way in
which this latter opened in response to my knock; and something
gleeful and triumphant in Mr. Polton’s manner as he invited me to
enter, stirred my suspicions and aroused vague forebodings.
He helped me out of my--or rather Thorndyke’s--overcoat, and, having
taken the hat from me, peered inquiringly into its interior and fished
out the two envelopes, which he politely offered to me. Then, having
disposed of his employer’s property, he returned to confront me, and,
wrinkling his countenance into a most singular and highly corrugated
smile, he opened his mouth and spoke.
“So you have come, sir, the Doctor tells me, to take sanctuary for a
time with us from the malice of your enemies.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied; “but there is a cockeyed
transformationist who seems to be dodging about after me, and Dr.
Thorndyke thinks I had better give him the go-by for the present.”
“And very proper, too, sir. Discretion is the better part of valour,
as the proverb says--though I really could never see that it is any
part at all. But no doubt our forefathers, who made the proverb, knew
best. Did the Doctor mention that he had given me certain instructions
about you?”
“He said that I was to talk over some question with you, but I didn’t
quite follow him. What were his instructions?”
Polton rubbed his hands, and his face became more crinkly than ever.
“The Doctor instructed me,” he replied, looking at me hungrily and
obviously making a mental inventory of my features, “to effect certain
slight alterations in your outward personality.”
“Oh, did he,” said I. “And what does he mean by that? Does he mean
that you are to make me up as an old woman or a nigger minstrel?”
“Not at all, sir,” replied Polton. “Neither of those characters would
be at all suitable. They would occasion remark, which it is our object
to avoid; and as to a negro minstrel, his presence in chambers would
undoubtedly be objected to by the benchers.”
“But,” I expostulated, “why any disguise at all, if I am to be boxed
up in these chambers? The chappie isn’t likely to come and look
through the keyhole.”
“He wouldn’t see anything if he did,” said Polton. “I fitted these
locks. But, you see, sir, many strangers come to these chambers, and
then, too, you might like to take a little exercise about the inn or
the gardens. That would probably be quite safe if you were
unrecognizable, but otherwise, I should think, inadmissible. And
really, sir,” he continued persuasively, “if you do a thing at all you
may as well do it thoroughly. The Doctor wishes you to disappear; then
disappear completely. Don’t do it by halves.”
I could not but admit to myself that this was reasonable advice.
Nevertheless, I grumbled a little sulkily. “It seems to me that Dr.
Thorndyke is making a lot of unnecessary fuss. It is absurd for an
able-bodied man to be sneaking into a hiding-place and disguising
himself like a runaway thief.”
“I can offer no opinion on that, sir,” said Polton; “but you’re wrong
about the Doctor. He is a cautious man but he is not nervous or fussy.
You would be wise to act as he thinks best, I am sure.”
“Very well,” I said; “I won’t be obstinate. When do you want to begin
on me?”
“I should like,” replied Polton, brightening up wonderfully at my
sudden submission, “to have you ready for inspection by the time that
the Doctor returns. If agreeable to you, sir, I would proceed
immediately.”
“Then in that case,” said I, “we had better adjourn to the green-room
forthwith.”
“If you please, sir,” replied Polton; and with this, having opened the
door and cautiously inspected the landing, he conducted me up the
stairs to the floor above, the rooms of which appeared to be fitted as
workshops and laboratories. In one of the former, which appeared to be
Polton’s own special den, I saw my watch hanging from a nail, with a
rating table pinned above it, and proceeded to claim it.
“I suppose, sir,” said Polton, reluctantly taking it from its nail and
surrendering it to me, “as you are going to reside on the premises and
I can keep it under observation, you may as well wear it. The present
rate is plus one point three seconds daily. And now I will trouble you
to sit down on this stool and take off your collar.”
I did as he bade me, and, meanwhile, he turned up his cuffs and stood
a little way off, surveying me as a sculptor might survey a bust on
which he was at work. Then he fetched a large cardboard box, the
contents of which I could not see, and fell to work.
His first proceeding was to oil my hair thoroughly, part it in the
middle and brush it smoothly down either side of my forehead. Next he
shaved off the outer third of each eyebrow, and, having applied some
sort of varnish or adhesive, he proceeded to build up, with a number
of short hairs, a continuation of the eyebrows at a higher level. The
result seemed to please him amazingly, for he stepped back and viewed
me with an exceedingly self-satisfied smirk.
“It is really surprising, sir,” said he, “how much expression there is
in the corner of an eyebrow. You look a completely different gentleman
already.”
“Then,” said I, “there’s no need to do any more. We can leave it at
this.”
“Oh, no, we can’t, sir,” Polton replied hastily, making a frantic dive
into the cardboard box. “Begging your pardon, sir, it is necessary to
attend to the lower part of the face, in case you should wish to wear
a hat, which would cover the hair and throw the eyebrows into shadow.”
Here he produced from the box an undeniable false beard of the torpedo
type and approached me, holding it out as if it were a poultice.
“You are not going to stick that beastly thing on my face!” I
exclaimed, gazing at it with profound disfavour.
“Now, sir,” protested Polton, “pray be patient. We will just try it
on, and the Doctor shall decide if it is necessary.”
With this he proceeded to affix the abomination to my jowl with the
aid of the same sticky varnish that he had used previously, and,
having attached a moustache to my upper lip, worked carefully round
the edges of both with a quantity of loose hair, which he stuck on the
skin with the adhesive liquid and afterwards trimmed off with
scissors. The process was just completed and he had stepped back once