He had a pronounced foreign accent and Beautrelet seemed to perceive, as he looked at him, that he too wore a facial disguise that entirely altered his features.
“Who are you?” he repeated. “Who are you?”
The stranger smiled:
“Don’t you recognize me?”
“No, I never saw you before.”
“Nor I you. But think. The papers print my portrait also—and pretty often. Well, have you got it?”
“No.”
“Holmlock Shears.”
It was an amusing and, at the same time, a significant meeting. The boy at once saw the full bearing of it. After an exchange of compliments, he said to Shears:
“I suppose that you are here—because of ‘him’?”