Then he came back closer to Elaine.
A moment she looked at him, not quite knowing from his strange
actions whether to call for help or not.
. . . . . . . .
At a motion from Kennedy, as he pulled off his wig, I pulled off
the little false beard.
Elaine looked at us, transformed, startled.
"Wh--what--" she stammered. "Oh--I'm--so--glad. How--"
Kennedy said nothing. He was thoroughly enjoying her face.
"Don't you understand?" I explained, laughing merrily. "I admit
that I didn't until that last minute in the stateroom on the boat
when we didn't come back to wave a last good-bye. But all the care
that Craig took in selecting the porters was the result of work he
did yesterday, and the insistence with which he chose our
travelling clothes had a deep-laid purpose."
She said nothing, and I continued.
"The change was made quickly in the stateroom. Kennedy's man threw
on the coat and hat he wore, while Craig donned the rough clothes
of the porter and added a limp and a wig. The same sort of
exchange of clothes was made by me and Craig clapped a Van Dyck
beard on my chin."
"I--I'm so glad," she repeated. "I didn't think you'd--"
She cut the sentence short, remembering her eyes and the
photograph as we entered, and a deep blush crimsoned her face.
"Mum's the word," cautioned Kennedy, "You must smuggle us out of
the house, some way.
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