She drew the eyebrow with masterly ease and rapidity.
"Why, that is the eyebrow of Mephistopheles."
"And so it is," said Grace, naïvely. "No wonder it did not seem human to me."
"I am sorry to say it is human. You can see it in every convict jail.
But," said he, "how came this villain to sit to you for his portrait?"
"He did not, sir. But when he was struggling with me to keep me from rescuing my father—"
"What! did the ruffian lay hands on you?"
"That he did, and so did Mr. Bartley. But the villain was the leader of it all; and while he was struggling with me—"
"You were taking stock of him? Well, they talk of a Jew's eye; give me a woman's. My dear, the second-hand description is not worth a button. I must write fresh notices from yours, and, above all, instruct the detectives. You have given me information that will lead to that man's capture. As for the gold ring and the tweed suit, they disappeared into space when my placard went up, you may be sure of that, and a felon can paint his face. But his eyes and eyebrows will do him. They are the mark of a jail-bird. I am a visiting justice, and have often noticed the peculiarity. Draw me his eyebrows, and we will photograph them in Derby; and my detectives shall send copies to Scotland Yard and all the convict prisons. We'll have him."
The Colonel paused suddenly in his triumphant prediction, and said, "But what was that you let fall about Bartley? He was no party to this foul crime. Why, he has worked night and day to save you and Hope. Indeed, you both owe your lives to him."
"Indeed!"