Philip's face was of a fine, classical type; Grenier, whose nose, mouth and chin were regular and pleasing, found the greatest difficulty in controlling the shifty, ferret-like expression of his eyes. Again, Philip had no mustache. The only costume he really liked to wear was his yachting uniform, and here he conformed to the standard of the navy. The shaven lip, of course, was helpful to his imitator. All that was needed was an artistic eye for the chief effect, combined with a skilled use of his materials. And herein Grenier was an adept. But the light was growing very uncertain. "A lamp," he said, querulously, for time sped and he had much to do; "bring a lamp quickly." Mason went toward the front kitchen. Grenier did not care about being left alone, face to face with the pallid and naked form in the chair, but he set his teeth and repressed the tendency to rush after his confederate. The latter, in returning, halted an instant. "Hello!" he cried. "Here's his hat." After placing the lamp on the table beside the mirror, he went back to the passage. Grenier was so busy with the making-up process that he did not notice what his companion was doing. His bent form shrouded the light, and Mason placed the hat carelessly on a chair. He chanced to hold it by an uninjured part of the rim, and never thought of examining it. At last Grenier declared himself satisfied. "What do you think of the result?" he demanded, facing about so that the other could see both Anson and himself. "First-rate. It would deceive his own mother." A terrific rat-tat sounded on the outer door. A direct summons to the infernal regions could not have startled both men more thoroughly. Grenier, with the protecting make-up on forehead and cheeks, only showed his terror in his glistening eyes and palsied frame. Mason, whom nothing could daunt, was, nevertheless, spellbound with surprise. What intruder was this who knocked so imperatively? They were a mile and a half from the nearest habitation, four miles from a village. What fearful chance had brought to their door one who thus boldly demanded admission? Had their scheme miscarried at this vital moment? Had Anson suspected something and arranged that he should be followed by rescuers--avengers? The sheer agony of fear restored Grenier's wits. He was not Grenier now, but Philip Anson, a very shaky and unnerved Philip Anson, it was true, but sufficiently likelife to choke off doubting inquiries. He clutched Mason's arm and pointed a quivering finger toward Philip. "Out with him! This instant! The tide is high!" "But his face! If he is found----" Mason reached for the life-preserver with horrible purpose. "No, no. No more noise. Quick, man. You must go to the door. Only summon me if necessary. Oh, quick!" He rushed to another door and opened it. There was a balcony beyond. It overhung the very lip of the rock. Far beneath, the deep blue of the sea shone, and naught else.