“Herr Doktor, will you graciously permit me to offer a humble suggestion?” said Gurther eagerly. The doctor nodded his head slowly. “You may speak, Gurther,” he said. “You are a man of intelligence; I would not presume to dictate to an artist.” “Let me go for an hour, perhaps two hours, and I will return to you with a manner that is unique. Is it graciously permitted, Herr Doktor?” “March!” said the doctor graciously, waving his hand to the door. Nearly an hour and a half passed before the door opened and a gentleman came in who for even a moment even the doctor thought was a stranger. The face had an unearthly ivory pallor; the black brows, the faint shadows beneath the eyes that suggested a recent illness, the close-cropped black beard in which grey showed—these might not have deceived him. But the man was obviously the victim of some appalling accident of the past. One shoulder was hunched, the hand that held the stick was distorted out of shape, and as he moved, the clump of his club foot advertised his lameness. “Sir, you desire to see me——?” began the doctor, and then stared open-mouthed. “It is not . . . !” Gurther smiled. “Herr Doktor, are you condescendingly pleased?” “Colossal!” murmured Oberzohn, gazing in amazement. “Of all accomplishments this is supreme! Gurther, you are an artist. Some day we shall buy a theatre for you in Unter den Linden, and you shall thrill large audiences.” “Herr Doktor, this is my own idea; this I have planned for many months. The boots I made myself; even the coat I altered”—he patted his deformed shoulder proudly. “An eyeglass?” “I have it,” said Gurther promptly. “The cravat—is it not too proper?” Gurther fingered his tie. “For the grand habit I respectfully claim that the proper tie is desirable, if you will graciously permit.” The Herr Doktor nodded. “You shall go with God, Gurther,” he said piously, took a golden cigarette-case from his pocket and handed it to the man. “Sit down, my dear friend.” He rose and pointed to the chair he had vacated. “In my own chair, Gurther. Nothing is too good for you. Now here is the arrangement . . .” Step by step he unfolded the time-table, for chronology was almost as great a passion with this strange and wicked man as it was with Aunt Alma. So confident was Gurther of his disguise that he had gone in the open to speak to Oberzohn’s chauffeur, and out of the tail of his eye he had seen Manfred and Gonsalez approaching. It was the supreme test and was passed with credit to himself. He did not dine at Mero’s; Gurther never ate or drank when he was wearing a disguise, knowing just how fatal that occupation could be. Instead, he had called a taxi, and had killed time by being driven slowly round and round the Outer Circle of Regent’s Park.