When the operation was over, Marlowe surveyed his closely-cropped head in the cracked mirror with some disgust.
"You've made a beauty of me," he said. "However, it had to be done. Now where's that wig?"
He was adjusting it awkwardly, when Jacob took it from his hands and put it on properly.
"Now look at yourself," he said.
Marlowe did look, and, as the old man had predicted, found his looks so transformed that he hardly knew himself.
"That's good," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "It don't improve my beauty, but then I ain't vain. I care more for my liberty. If it hadn't been for that cussed boy there wouldn't have been any need of this."
"What boy?"
"Jack Morgan's boy—Julius."
"What did he do?"
"He split on us—gave warning of our attempt. That's how we came to be taken. I'd give something to get at him."