was a much more alert looking individual, with a shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard. 

 “Matthew’s,” said Desmond as he supped, “would it be indiscreet to ask where we are?” 

 “In Kent, Major,” replied Matthews. 

 “What station was that we started from?” 

 “Faversham.” 

 “And where are we going, might I inquire?” 

 “To Cannon Street, sir!” 

 “And from there?” 

 Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly. 

 “I can’t really say, sir, I’m sure! A car will meet you there and I can go home to bed.” 

 The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution, the Chief! 

 “And this gentleman here, Matthews?” asked Desmond, lighting one of the skipper’s cigars. 

 “That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in the way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it that way, sir, for we really do very little in the way of disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people’s points, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiarities of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying, Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some time. Isn’t it so?” 

 Crook looked up a minute from his table. 

 “That’s right,” he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of examining the photographs. 

 “And what’s your opinion about this disguise of mine?” Desmond asked him. 

 “I can make a good job of you, Major,” said the expert, “and so I reported to the Chief. You’ll want to do your hair a bit different and let your beard 

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