To Moy Chen, seated at his desk, Cleve signified that he intended to assume his disguise. The two men went into the other room.
As Moy Chen applied the make-up to Cleve’s face, he remarked upon the tiny spot he saw on the agent’s forehead. Cleve surveyed it in a mirror.
“Wonder where I got that?” he said. “Blot it out, Moy Chen, when you put on the eyebrows.”
But, somehow, the mark would not blot. All applications that Moy Chen made failed to cover it effectually. Moy Chen arranged the heavy eyebrows, and found that he could diminish the mark, even though he could not obliterate it.
Cleve, looking in the mirror, decided that the makeshift would do. It was better than too much disguise.
“Tonight, Moy Chen,” explained Cleve, “I attend a meeting of the inner group of the Wu-Fan. I may encounter danger, although I now believe that such is unlikely.”
Moy Chen nodded.
“I am to be taken to the meeting place. I will not find the man who is to lead me until ten o’clock. You have been nearly fifteen minutes with my make-up. I will be out of here before half past nine.”
“That will leave one half hour,” said Moy Chen solemnly.
“A half an hour for you, Moy Chen,” declared Cleve. “I know your connection here. I was told that if I needed immediate assistance, you could arrange for it.”