The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"It's all right," he whispered. "I have been talking it over with Masefield, and he did not think it would be prudent to meet you here a second time. Besides, we have to be very careful; we are not aware how much Anstruther knows. He might have got to the back of our plot for all we know to the contrary."

"I did not quite catch how he was dressed," Seymour said. "Would you mind telling me what he is wearing?"

Rigby proceeded to explain that Anstruther was rigged out in a costume of some Indian tribe. He could be especially noticed by the exceedingly high plume of eagle's feathers which he was wearing in his headdress. Seymour chuckled aloud.

"I thought it all out as I came along," he said. "When I saw Masefield a little time ago I only wanted to come here more or less out of idle curiosity; but a little idea occurred to me as I called my cab. I am going to thoroughly enjoy myself this evening; in fact, this is the first time I have had an opportunity of mingling with my fellow creatures for three years. But that is not the point. If you keep fairly close to me you will have the chance of seeing how I shall get on Anstruther's nerves presently."

"Do you mean to say you are going to begin at once?" Rigby asked, "or would you not like to see Barmouth first?"

Seymour intimated that there was no hurry, and that the little drama he had in his mind would be best played out at supper time. That meal was intended to be a rather fast and furious affair, where all the guests were supposed to always act up to the characters which they personified.

"Therefore I should very much like to see Barmouth," Seymour said. "If you can arrange a meeting for us in some quiet spot I shall be exceedingly obliged to you."

Rigby went off, with an intimation that he would not be long. He came back presently, and signified that Seymour should follow him. The two proceeded as far as the head of the staircase, and there, in a small room at the end of the corridor, Barmouth stood awaiting Seymour's entrance. No sooner was the latter inside, than his host closed and locked the door. He turned up the light, and snatched his mask from his face. On the impulse of the moment Seymour did the same.

Save for the difference of their coloring, the two men were almost identically alike. Perhaps in the whole world it would have been impossible to find two refined and educated men so hideously and atrociously ugly. One man's eyes were blue, the other one's dark-brown; but this made no difference. All amiability of expression, all frankness and sincerity, seemed to have been literally cut out of their features. Most men would have turned from them with loathing and disgust. They stood there looking at one another, the very image of the Nostalgo posters that London was still discussing so eagerly. As Seymour dropped Barmouth's proffered hand, the latter burst into a bitter laugh.

"No reason to try and flatter ourselves," he said. "When I look at you or you look at me, we both know that we are forever outside the pale of civilized society. We can make the most of an occasion like this, but these happy hours are few and far between."