He looked away, and mumbled, “I’ve been thinking of taking it off, anyhow. And besides, if I’m going to do the thing, I’m going to do it properly.”

“Yes, you always were an artist,” I said, looking at him admiringly.

He purred. To be called an artist was what he longed for most. Now I knew that I had him.

“All the same,” I went on, “even without your beard and moustache you might be recognizable. Unless, of course⁠—” I broke off.

“Unless what?”

“You pretend to be Robert.” I began to laugh to myself again. “By Jove!” I said, “that’s not a bad idea. Pretend to be Robert, the wastrel brother, and make yourself objectionable to Miss Norris. Borrow money from her, and that sort of thing.”

He looked at me, with his bright little eyes, nodding eagerly.