At the moment when I crossed the threshold of the door, I heard Sergeant
Cuff's voice, asking where I was. He met me, as I returned into the
room, and forced me to go back with him to the bedside.
"Mr. Blake!" he said. "Look at the man's face. It is a face
disguised--and here's a proof of it!"
He traced with his finger a thin line of livid white, running backward
from the dead man's forehead, between the swarthy complexion, and the
slightly-disturbed black hair. "Let's see what is under this," said the
Sergeant, suddenly seizing the black hair, with a firm grip of his hand.
My nerves were not strong enough to bear it. I turned away again from
the bed.
The first sight that met my eyes, at the other end of the room, was
the irrepressible Gooseberry, perched on a chair, and looking with
breathless interest, over the heads of his elders, at the Sergeant's
proceedings.
"He's pulling off his wig!" whispered Gooseberry, compassionating my
position, as the only person in the room who could see nothing.
There was a pause--and then a cry of astonishment among the people round
the bed.
"He's pulled off his beard!" cried Gooseberry.
Pages:
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857