ill you please, Major, and I'll try and give you an
impression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton for
the past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a
very important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one of
his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"

Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that
Desmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, the
shriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken,
while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic
baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond's
ear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slight
Continental intonation, a little roll of the "r's," an unfamiliar
sound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are so
fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watched
Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of
Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before
him.

Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of
Bellward. The expert interrupted him continually.

"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at your
sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So
and so!"

Or again:

"You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me,
sir. You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for
you. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
again!"

But the train was slackening speed. They were running between
black masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the
bridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and
brushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tin
box.

To Desmond he said:

"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very
apt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear
that's impossible."

Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at
Cannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and
disappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat
presented himself at the door of the Pullman.

"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmond
to alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about
to leave