“Not for some months, sir, I should say,” he announced with professional gravity, while all the audience craned their necks to hear his words.
“Now, then,” said Bronston, yanking Keller forward into the full light, “would you please look this prisoner over and tell us how long, in your opinion, it has been since he wore a moustache?”
[456]
A pause ensued; all waited for the decision.
“I should say, sir,” stated the barber at the end of half a minute, “that ’e’s been wearing a moustache lately—I should say that ’e must ’ave took it off quite recently. ’Is upper lip is still tender—tenderer than the rest of ’is face.”
“But I took it off since we sailed,” blared Keller. He turned furiously on Bronston. “Damn you, you conned me into taking it off!”
“Why should I do that?” parried Bronston coolly; his manner changed, becoming accusing. “Why should I persuade you to cut off the principal distinguishing mark as set forth in the description that was sent to our people from London, the thing which aided me in tracing and finding you?”
A sputtered bellow was the answer from Keller, and a suggestion of applause the response from the crowd. The popular verdict had been rendered. Before the tribunal of the onlookers the prisoner stood convicted of being rightfully and properly a prisoner. Even in his present state Keller realised this, and filled for the moment with a sullen resignation he dropped his manacled hands.
“Remember,” he groaned, “somebody’ll pay out big damages if you let this man off this ship. That’s all I’ve got to say now. He tricked me and he’ll trick you, too, if he can!”
“Mr. First Officer,” said Bronston, “hasn’t this farce gone far enough? Is there any [457] lingering doubt in your mind regarding our proper identities?”
The first officer shook his head. “I am satisfied,” he said with unqualified conviction in his words; “quite satisfied. Indeed, sir, I was satisfied from the beginning. I only wished to be absolutely sure.”