erful Gorgio in the red-plush chair, and the negro barber
bending over him, with black fingers holding the Gorgio's chin, and
an open razor in the right hand lightly grasped. A flash of malicious
desire came into his eyes as the vision shaped itself in his
imagination, and he saw himself, instead of the negro barber, holding
the Gorgio chin and looking down at the Gorgio throat with the razor,
not lightly, but firmly grasped in his right hand. How was it that more
throats were not cut in that way? How was it that while the scissors
passed through the beard of a man's face the points did not suddenly
slip up and stab the light from helpless eyes? How was it that men did
not use their chances? He went lightly down the street, absorbed in
a vision which was not like the reality; but it was evidence that his
visit to Max Ingolby's house was not the visit of a virtuoso alone, but
of an evil spirit.

As the Romany disappeared, Max Ingolby had his hand on the old
barber's shoulder. "I want one of the wigs you made for that theatrical
performance of the Mounted Police, Berry," he said. "Never mind what
it's for. I want it at once--one with the long hair of a French-Canadian
coureur-de-bois. Have you got one?"

"Suh, I'll send it round-no, I'll bring it round as I come from dinner.
Want the clothes, too?"

"No. I'm arranging for them with Osterhaut. I've sent word by Jowett."

"You want me to know what it's for?"

"You can know anything I know--almost, Berry. You're a friend of the
right sort, and I can trust you."

"Yeth-'ir, I bin some use to you, onct or twict, I guess."

"You'll have a chance to be of use more than ever presently."

"Suh, there's gain' to be a bust-up, but I know who's comin' out on the
top. That Felix Marchand and his roughs can't down you. I hear and see
a lot, and there's two or three things I was goin' to put befo' you;
yeth-'ir."

He unloaded his secret information to his friend, and was rewarded by
Ingolby suddenly shaking his hand warmly.

"That's the line," Ingolby said decisively. "When do you go over to
Manitou again to cut old Hector Marchand's hair? Soon?"

"To-day is his day--this evening," was the reply.

"Good. You wanted to know what the wig and the habitant's clothes are
for, Berry--well, for me to wear in Manitou. In disguise I'm going there
tonight among them all, among the roughs and toughs. I want to find out
things for myself. I can speak French as good as most of 'em, and