Scarcely had a minute passed before a customer entered. Devlin, who, while he was arguing with me, had taken off his coat, and put on a linen jacket of spotless white, behaved most decorously. His manner was deferential without being subservient, respectful without being familiar. The man was shaved by Devlin, and then his head was brushed by machinery, which I had forgotten to mention was fixed in the shop. There was a caressing motion about Devlin's shapely hands which could not but be agreeable to those who sought his tonsorial aid, and his conversation, judging from the expression on his customer's face, must have been amusing and entertaining. The customer took his departure, and another, appearing as he went out, was duly attended to. This went on until eleven o'clock by my watch, and nothing had occurred of especial interest to me. Devlin was kept pretty busy; but, although his time was fully employed, the business at such prices could not have been remunerative, especially when it was considered that the fitting up of the shop must have cost a pretty sum of money, and that the profits of the concern had to be divided between two persons, Mr. Lemon and himself. It was not till past eleven that my attention was more than ordinarily attracted by Devlin's behaviour, the difference in which perhaps no one except myself would have particularly noticed. A man of the middle class entered and took his seat. He wore a beard and moustache; and although I could not hear what he said, he spoke in so low a tone, I judged correctly that he instructed Devlin to shave his face bare. Devlin proceeded to obey him, and clipped and cut, and finally applied his razor until not a vestige of hair was left on the man's face. That being done, Devlin cut this customer's hair close, and then used his brushes; and as his hands moved about the man's head there was, if I may so describe it, a feline, insinuating expression in them which aroused my curiosity. I thought of the singular dream I have described, and it appeared to me that all the while Devlin was employed over his customer the brains of the man sitting so quietly in the chair were figuratively exposed to his view, and that he was reading the thoughts which stirred therein. When the man was gone there was a peculiar smile upon Devlin's face, and I observed that he laughed quietly to himself. There happened to be no one in the shop to claim Devlin's attention, and I, who was impatiently waiting for some sign from Devlin pertinent to the secret purpose to which both he and I were pledged, expected it to be given now; for the circumstance of the man having been shaved bare--which so altered his appearance that I should not otherwise have known that the person who entered the shop was the same person who left it--was to me so suspicious that in my anxiety and agitation I connected it with the murder of poor Lizzie Melladew, arguing that the man had effected this disguise in himself for the purpose of escaping detection. But Devlin made no sign, and did not even look towards the glass-door. Other customers coming in, Devlin was busy again. Twelve o'clock--half-past twelve--one o'clock-and still no indication of anything in connection with my task. With a feeling of intense disappointment, and beginning to doubt whether I had not allowed myself to be duped, I replaced my watch in my pocket, and had scarcely done so before my heart was beating violently at the appearance of a gentleman whom I little expected to see in Devlin's shop. This gentleman was no other than Mr. Kenneth Dowsett, George Carton's guardian.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
MR. KENNETH DOWSETT GIVES ME THE SLIP.
The beating of my heart became normal; I suppose it was the sudden appearance of a gentleman with whose face I was familiar, after many hours of suspense, that had caused its pulsations to become so rapid and violent. There was nothing surprising, after all, in the presence of Mr. Dowsett in Devlin's shop. His address was in Westminster, Devlin was an exceptionally fine workman, the accommodation was luxurious, the charges low. Even I, in my position in life, would be tempted to deal occasionally with so expert and perfect a barber as Devlin, at the prices he charged. Then, why not Mr. Kenneth Dowsett? Besides, he might be of a frugal turn.
Devlin was not long engaged over him. Mr. Dowsett was shaved; Mr. Dowsett had his hair brushed by machinery; Mr. Dowsett, moreover, was very particular as to the arrangement of his hair; and Devlin, I saw, did his best to please him. But so deft and facile was Devlin that he did not dally with Mr. Dowsett for longer than five or six minutes. Mr. Dowsett rose, paid Devlin, exchanged a few smiling words with him, and taking a final look at himself in the mirrors, turning himself this way and that, walked out of the shop. Evidently Mr. Dowsett was a very vain man.
No sooner was he gone than Devlin locked the shop-door from within, whipped off his linen jacket, and opened the door of the room in which I was sitting. I came forward in no amiable mood.
"You are wearied with your long enforced rest," said Devlin.
"I am wearied and disgusted," I retorted. "I expected a clue."
"Have you not received it?" asked Devlin, smiling.
"Received it!" I echoed. "How? Where?"