Will took a bed at the George, and at mid-day went to the inn where the coach stopped. The man was on the outside.
“Well, sir, I have found the Frenchman, and given him the letter, so that part of the business is done.”
“That is good. What is the number of the man’s hut?”
“Number sixty-eight;” and the man carefully described its position.
“Very well. Now we will set about the second part.”
When they arrived at the shop the barber seated them in two chairs next to each other, in a room behind the shop, and set to work at once. He first produced a wig and whiskers, which, with a little clipping, he made of the size and shape of the hair on the huckster’s face. Then he set to work with his paints, first staining Will’s face to the reddish-brown of the man’s complexion, and then adding line after line. After two hours’ work he asked them to stand together before a glass, and both were astonished; the resemblance was indeed perfect. Will’s eyebrows had been stained a grayish white, and some long hairs had been inserted so as to give them the shaggy appearance of the pedlar. A crow’s foot had been painted at the corner of each eye, and a line drawn from the nose to the corners of the lips. The chin and lower part of the cheeks had been tinted dark, to give them the appearance of long shaving. Both of them burst into a laugh as they looked at the two faces in the mirror.
“You will do, sir,” the man said. “It would need a sharp pair of eyes to detect the difference between us.”
“Yes, I think that will do,” Will said, “and to aid the deception I will, as I go in, use my handkerchief and pretend to have a bad cold.”
“Is there a basket-maker’s near?” Will asked the barber.
“Yes, sir, first turning to the right, and first to the left, two or three doors down, there is a small shop.”