He laughed bitterly; it was his deep dejection that had turned away my wrath.
"Good heavens, no! Have you? Did you put those notes where I told you to? Did you get the whiskers?"
"I have done both," said I, seeing no point in mentioning the contretemps at the church. "Here are the whiskers; I bought them at a hairdresser's—for theatricals. And here's a clean duck suit and a helmet that I used to wear at sea. Don't look askance at them. I know they're conspicuous. For that very reason, they're going to nip suspicion in the bud."
Deedes considered a moment, and then gave the most genuine laugh I had heard from him yet.
"By George, they're the very thing!" he cried, in a soft enthusiasm. "Lend me your hand, Beetle, for I'm as stiff as the dead."
Five minutes later he rustled and gleamed from his chin to his ankles in snowy whites; blonde whiskers wept from either cheek; then with his pen-knife he hacked at his moustache until his mouth showed through and spoilt him; and with that we were ready to start. Our rendezvous was Western Beach; our only difficulty, an unseen exit from the house. We had luck, however, on our side. Not only did we break covert unobserved, but we met with no undue scrutiny in the open; not a single constable saw or was seen of us. So we gained the beach, deeply grateful to our proper stars.
"Now," said Deedes, "you follow me along this pier."
"Why?" said I, with ugly visions; and instinctively I stood in my tracks.