“Ah ha!” said Lavenne to himself, “we are going to see something now.”
He watched whilst Camus, having placed the mask on the table, went to the cupboard and produced a glass slab, a rod of glass and a small brush of camel-hair, such as artists use for water-colour painting. Also, from the same cupboard, he produced a tiny bottle with a gold stopper; this bottle was not made of glass, but of metal.
Having arranged his materials on the table, the Count drew from his pocket an object which caused the watcher behind the curtain much searching of mind. The object was a dagger, or rather a sheath knife, small, of exquisite design, and with scabbard and pommel crusted with gems.
He drew the blade from the sheath, which he placed carefully on one side. The blade was of silver, double-edged and damascened, about an inch broad and four inches long.
He placed the blade by the sheath. Then he put on the mask, took the tube containing the violet liquor and poured a few drops on the glass slab, then, as swiftly as light, a few drops from the tube containing the crystal-clear liquid, stirring the two together with the point of the glass rod. He reached out his left hand for the small metal bottle, uncorked it, and poured a few drops on the slab.
Instantly a cloud of vapour rose up, the liquid on the slab seemed to boil; dipping the little brush in the seething fluid, he drew the dagger blade to him and began to paint the silver with swift strokes, reaching from the haft to the point.
He only painted one side of the blade, and when the business was completed, instead of returning the blade to the sheath, he laid it on the table as if to dry.
Then he rose from the chair and removed the mask from his face.
A faint sickly odour filled the room. Lavenne, who had a pretty intimate knowledge of most perfumes, pleasant or unpleasant, and who in the course of his duties in the old quarters of Paris had learned the art of possessing no nose, drew back slightly from this effluvium, the effect of which was mental rather than physical. It might have been likened to an essence distilled from an evil dream. But it did not seem to trouble Camus. He was now putting away the bottle and the tubes, the rod and the slab of glass. He returned the mask to the cabinet he had taken it from, and then, coming back to the table, he took up the dagger, examined it attentively and returned it to its sheath.
Going to the right-hand wall, he touched a spot about four feet from the ground; a tiny door, the existence of which Lavenne had failed to detect, flew open. He placed the dagger in the cache thus disclosed, shut the door, extinguished one of the lamps on the table, and carrying the other in his hand, left the room.