As soon as he had left, Granthope sat down at the desk and wrote a note upon a memorandum pad. It read:
Fancy—
To-morrow morning please go down to the ticket office at the Ferry, and see if you can find out where a soldier, with his nose shot off, bought a ticket to, about ten days ago.
He rose, yawned, stared thoughtfully at the cast; for a few moments, then snapped his fingers and walked to the window. His cab was waiting. He went down-stairs, got into the vehicle and drove off.
The Maxwells lived at Presidio Heights, in one of the newer residences of the aristocratic Western Addition, a handsome brick house decorated with Romanesque fantasies in terra cotta, behind a bronze rail guarded by heraldic griffins. Granthope walked up under the lantern-hung awning five minutes before the hour and was shown to a room up-stairs.
Here there were several men waiting and adjusting their garments. All but one were in Chinese costume; this was a fat, red-faced man, with a white mustache. He was in evening dress, and kept exclaiming:
"I won't make a damned fool of myself for anybody. It's all nonsense!" He was obviously embarrassed at being the only nonconformist.
"Sully" Maxwell, arrayed in a magnificently embroidered Chinese officer's summer uniform—a long, flounced robe, with the imperial dragons and their balls of fire, the rainbow border and the all-over cloud-pattern—was helping the men to dress, chaffing each of them in turn. He was middle-aged and prosperous-looking, typically a "man's man" and "hail-fellow-well-met," despite his immense fortune. He greeted Granthope cordially, without hint of patronage, and introduced him to the others.
Of two, Keith and Fernigan, Granthope had heard much. They were the pets of a certain smartish social circle, in virtue of their cleverness and wit. They were of the kind who habitually do "stunts" and were always expected to make the company merry and informal. Keith was a tall, wiry, flap-eared, smiling fellow, made up as a Chinese stage-comedian, with his nose painted white. Fernigan, short, stout to rotundity, almost bald, with spectacles, and a round, Irish face, was dressed in woman's costume, head-dress, earrings, green coat and pink silk trousers. He was naturally droll, a wag at all times, and his whimsical way constantly approached a shocking limit but never quite reached it. He was speaking a good parody of the Cantonese dialect to his partner, and making eccentric gestures.
Both he and Keith greeted Granthope with mock gravity, addressing him in pidgin English. Granthope answered with what spirit he had, and, taking his place at the mirror, placed upon his nose an enormous pair of blue-glass spectacles, horn-rimmed. They disguised him effectually.