Prenderby raised his eyes inquiringly. ‘Very foul?’ he said.
‘Not at all. That was the amazing part of it.’
Abbershaw leaned forward in his chair and his eyes were very grave and hard. ‘Prenderby, that man had no need to wear that plate. His face was as whole as yours or mine!’
‘Good God!’ The boy sat up, the truth slowly dawning on him. ‘Then it was simply –’
Abbershaw nodded.
‘A mask,’ he said.
CHAPTER VI
Mr Campion Brings the House Down
Abbershaw sat up for some time, smoking, after Prenderby left him, and when at last he got into bed he did not sleep at once, but lay staring up into the darkness of the beamed ceiling – thinking.
He had just fallen into a doze in which the events of the evening formed themselves into a fantastic nightmare, when a terrific thud above his head and a shower of plaster upon his face brought him hurriedly to his senses.
He sat up in bed, every nerve alert and tingling, waiting for the next development.