Age,
what he chooses. Employs his knowledge to mould his own nose
and cheeks, with wax additions, to the character he desires to
personate. Aquiline this time, you say. Hein! Anything like these
photographs?"
He rummaged in his desk and handed us two.
"Not in the least," Sir Charles answered. "Except, perhaps, as to the
neck, everything here is quite unlike him."
"Then that's the Colonel!" the Commissary answered, with decision,
rubbing his hands in glee. "Look here," and he took out a pencil
and rapidly sketched the outline of one of the two faces--that of
a bland-looking young man, with no expression worth mentioning.
"There's the Colonel in his simple disguise. Very good. Now watch
me: figure to yourself that he adds here a tiny patch of wax to his
nose--an aquiline bridge--just so; well, you have him right there;
and the chin, ah, one touch: now, for hair, a wig: for complexion,
nothing easier: that's the profile of your rascal, isn't it?"
"Exactly," we both murmured. By two curves of the pencil, and a
shock of false hair, the face was transmuted.
"He had very large eyes, with very big pupils, though," I objected,
looking close; "and the man in the photograph here has them small
and boiled-fishy."
"That's so," the Commissary answered.
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