“You must be someone else,” agreed Moy Chen.
“And you are the man to see that I am,” returned Cleve, knowingly.
“When do you wish to do this?” asked Moy Chen.
“As soon as possible,” answered Cleve.
“As soon as possible,” mused the Chinaman. “As soon as possible. That is now. You shall be someone else — now.”
Rising slowly, he went across the room with short, toddling steps. He beckoned to Cleve to follow.
Through a door they went, into a side room. From a large chest, Moy Chen removed well-pressed clothes and a box of make-up materials.
The transformation began. Cleve submitted himself to Moy Chen’s art. The Chinese undercover man was a master in the creation of disguise. With subtle touches here and there, he seemed to change the contour of his subject’s face.
When Cleve had donned the other clothes, he examined himself in the mirror at the side of the room.
He found himself staring at a face that he could never have recognized as his own. It had taken on a swarthy hue. The cheeks seemed less full. Even the square chin had lost its challenge. Deftly, Moy Chen had added patches of eyebrows that had effected the most noticeable change.