films he saw.

Malcolm Sage would enter the office as Malcolm Sage, and leave it as
Malcolm Sage, as obvious and as easily recognisable as St. Paul's
Cathedral. He seemed indifferent to the dramatic possibilities of
disguise.

William Johnson longed for some decrepit and dirty old man or woman
to enter the Bureau, selling boot-laces or bananas and, on being
peremptorily ordered out, to see the figure suddenly straighten
itself, and hear his Chief's well-known voice remark, "So you don't
recognise me, Johnson--good." There was romance.

He yearned for a "property-room," where executive members of the
staff would disguise themselves beyond recognition. In his more
imaginative moments he saw come out from that mysterious room a
full-blooded Kaffir, whereas he knew that only Thompson had entered.

He would have liked to see Miss Norman shed her pretty brunetteness
and reappear as an old apple-woman, who besought him to buy of her
wares. He even saw himself being transformed into a hooligan, or a
smart R.A.F. officer, complete with a toothbrush moustache and
"swish."

In his own mind he was convinced that, given the opportunity, he
could achieve greatness as a master of disguise, rivalling the
highly-coloured stories of Charles Peace. He had even put his
theories to the test.

One evening as Miss Norman, who had been working late, was on her
way to Charing Cross Underground Station, she was accosted by a
youth with upturned collar, wearing a shabby cap and a queer Charlie
Chaplain moustache that was not on straight. In a husky voice he
enquired his way to the Strand.

"Good gracious, Johnnie!" she cried involuntarily. "What on earth's
the matter?"

A moment later, as she regarded the vanishing form of William
Johnson, she wanted to kill herself for her lack of tact.

"Poor little Innocent!" she had murmured as she continued down
Villiers Street, and there was in her eyes a reflection of the tears
she had seen spring to those of William Johnson, whose first attempt
at disguise had proved so tragic a failure.

Neither ever referred to the incident subsequently--although for
days William Johnson experienced all the unenviable sensations of
Damocles.

From that moment his devotion to Gladys Norman had become almost
worship.

But William Johnson was not deterred, either by his own initial
failure or his chief's opinion. He resolutely stuck to his own
ideas, and continued to expend his pocket-money upon tinted g