Gradually, while talk went on, we disposed ourselves in chairs, making a group about this young man who showed from the first minute of acquaintance such a winning, and even naïve, nature. He sat in the midst of us now, busy parrying all sorts of questions, and I noticed that while he spoke lightly, he glanced from person to person, making brief, sharp studies of us. Particularly he kept stealing looks at Miss Lebetwood and the two younger Americans.
I had returned the study intensively, striving to capture some elusive recollection. “Pardon me, Mr. Heatheringham, but really I believe I’ve met you somewhere—another time, I mean. Am I right?”
“Yes, indeed, we have met. We’ve been having lovers’ meetings all over the place. You recollect the umbrella?”
The menagerie-keeper! I uttered a great gasp. “That was never you in the crooked black beard!”
“Wasn’t it, though?” he retorted brightly. “I can see your eyes popping now, Mr. Bannerlee, when I said, ‘I won’t need finger-nails.’ ”
“Incredible! That man was bulbous.” I pointed to the detective’s hands, which were brown and lean. “Don’t tell me you owned the great red wrists and fingers that fellow had.”
“Try a tightly-bound cuff or any other constriction around the wrist and keep your arms down—see what happens. Your hands will look like hams. The rest was just a matter of accessories, an inflated chest-protector, some dowdy clothes, some black hair. A bad disguise, on the whole.”
“On the contrary, your twin brother wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“No, but he would have had me arrested. Disguise should be unobtrusive, but that one shouted all over the place. To tell the truth, I used it more to give my friend Crofts Pendleton something to worry about than for any other reason.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” said Crofts.