He did not hear the slight click behind him as the wind shook the panes again; he did not see the door open slowly at the other side of the room.
The man studying his reflection lowered his hands from his temples, and a ghostly smile played over his thin lips. They moved, as if muttering words of satisfaction.
A voice spoke behind him.
“Yes, judge,” it said. “A little more black dye is necessary. The gray is showing through. Perhaps it is coming back. That would be unfortunate.”
The man before the mirror stood petrified. He no longer studied his own reflection. His eyes had turned at an angle. They were focused on another figure that also showed in the looking-glass.
He was intently watching the man who had come up behind him, a short, stocky fellow clad in an old coat and soft brown hat. The stranger’s face was not unfriendly, but it bore a look that was both sophisticated and challenging.
The tall man suddenly recovered himself. He swung quickly and faced his visitor. His hands went toward his coat pockets, but stopped on the way. He noticed that the other man’s hands were hidden. Any intention he might have had to draw a gun faded instantly.
“Who are you?” he demanded in a hoarse voice. “How did you come in here?”
“My name is Caulkins,” said the short man, in an affable tone. “I’m the fellow they call the ‘Wise Owl’.”
“The Wise Owl?”