“Well, I never,” exclaimed the man, after his customer had gone. “Most extraordinary man—horrid fright in that wig—must be highwayman!”
Jacob Gray did certainly look somewhat different in his wig; but no one who had ever known him well could, for a moment, have doubted the identity of his strange face, with its peculiar expression of cunning, mingled with apprehension.
“Learmont,” he muttered, “would have me visit him in the morning for some purpose, but I will make it night always, until I discover what can possibly be his motive for dragging me into daylight.”
Little suspecting then, that he was kept in view by Sir Francis Hartleton’s man, from the other side of the way, Gray walked at a rapid pace towards Learmont’s.
The squire was within, and he gave a slight start, when Gray was announced; for, at that very moment, he had been planning his murder, when he should, through the instrumentality of Albert Seyton, discover his abode.
The wig which Gray wore gave him a strange look, and Learmont could not for some time divine what it was that made the remarkable difference in Jacob Gray, but kept his eyes fixed upon him with a look of surprise, that the other could not but notice.
“I have thought it safer,” said Gray, “to try some personal disguise, as I came a long way to visit you.”
“As you please,” said Learmont coldly. “I cannot, however, perceive anything you have to fear.”
“No—no—” said Gray, “but I like not being known and recognised often by the same persons.”
“As you please—as you please, Jacob Gray.”