The shadow disappeared. How had he got there? Curiosity. Opening the window an eighth of an inch, she saw him scaling the wall with an agility which would have been admirable in any other conditions. Slowly she walked up the stairs to her room, closed and locked the door behind her, and sat down heavily on her bed. Once upon a time her aunt had carefully loaded a shot-gun designed for this same Dempsi. Tears came into her eyes. “Dear auntie!” she half-sobbed. “You understood men so well!” CHAPTER XII Gordon hesitated a little time before the mirror in his bedroom at the hotel, the razor poised in his hand, his cheeks crisp with lather. There is no more solemn act undertaken by man than destruction of such facial landmarks (if the term be allowed) as are represented by cultivated hair. There is something so irrevocable, so tremendous in self-destruction of whiskers, that it is amazing so few great poets have utilised the theme. Setting his jaw, Gordon attacked with a firm hand, the bright blade flashed in the pale sunlight ... the deed was done. Rubbing his face clean of lather, he gazed in surprise at the result. His appearance was wholly changed. It would not be extravagant to describe it as improved. Those two flickers of the razor had made him ten years younger. “Boyish!” exclaimed Gordon, neither in despair nor pleasure, yet with something of both emotions. Until then he had not seen the suit, that fashionable grey check with a little red in it. His first impression of the pattern had mellowed with time.... “My God!” breathed Gordon. He was not a profane man. Once Diana had wrung from him such an expression, but Diana and her startling point of view was the mildest of provocation compared with the horror that lay unfolded on the bed. As a length of cloth it had called for attention. It was humanly impossible to pass it by without some such comment as “That is rather unusual.” But in the piece it had dignity; there was a suggestion of weavers’ genius and ingenuity. As a suit, embellished with a saucy waist, and with buttons that were in themselves a quiet smile.... Gordon felt a trickle of something at his temples and requisitioned his handkerchief. He could not possibly wear this. The alternative, for a short sea voyage, was a black morning coat and top hat--equally impossible. Time was flying. He put on the trousers. They did not look so bad ... he dressed. Standing before the long glass in the wardrobe, he looked and wondered. One thing was certain: not his dearest friend would recognise him--and his overcoat would hide much. The reflection of this new Gordon Selsbury fascinated him. “How do you do?” he asked politely.