McMurtrie shook his head. "You may be seen," he said, "but there is no reason why you should be recognized."
I paused in the act of lighting my cigarette. "What do you mean?" I asked with some curiosity.
"My dear Mr. Lyndon," said McMurtrie, courteously, "as a scientist yourself you don't imagine that it's beyond the art of an intelligent surgeon to cope with a little difficulty like that?"
"But in what way?" I objected. "A disguise? Any one can see through a disguise except in novels."
The doctor smiled. "I am not suggesting a wig and a pair of spectacles," he observed. "It is rather too late in the world's history for that sort of thing." Then he stopped and studied me for an instant attentively. "In a fortnight, and practically without hurting you," he added, "I can make you as safe from the police as if you were dead and buried."
I sat up in bed. "Under the circumstances," I said, "you'll excuse my being a little inquisitive."
"Oh, there is no secret about it. Any surgeon could do it. I have only to alter the shape of your nose a trifle, and make your forehead rather higher and wider. A stain of some sort will do the rest."
"Yes," I said; "but what about the first part of the programme?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Child's play," he answered. "Merely a question of paraffin injections and the X-rays."
He spoke with such careless confidence that for once it was impossible to doubt his sincerity.