ther people, and were at present practicing by looking
like the popular conception of Wilton Barnstable. They were clever
men. But Barton Ward and Watson Bard were, as Cleggett had felt at
once, only men of extraordinary talent, while Wilton Barnstable was a
genius.

As Cleggett talked he was given a rather startling proof of Wilton
Barnstable's gift. He was astonished to find a change stealing over
Wilton Barnstable's features. Subtly the detective began to look like
someone else. The expression of the face, the turn of the eyes, the
lines about the mouth, began to suggest someone whom Cleggett knew. It
was rather a suggestion, an impression, than a likeness; it was rather
the spirit of a personality than a definite resemblance. It was a
psychic thing. Barnstable was disguising himself from the inside out;
he had assumed the mental and spiritual clothing of someone else.

Cleggett could not think at first who it was that Wilton Barnstable
suggested. But presently he saw that it was himself. He glanced at
Barton Ward and Watson Bard; they still resembled the popular
conception of Wilton Barnstable.

Gradually the look of Cleggett faded from Wilton Barnstable's face. It
changed, it shifted, that look did; Cleggett almost cried out as he saw
the face of Wilton Barnstable become an impressionistic portrait of the
soul of Logan Black. He looked at Barton Ward. Barton Ward was now
looking like Wilton Barnstable's conception of Cleggett. But Watson
Bard, less facile and less creative, still clung stolidly to the
popular conception of Wilton Barnstable.

But, even as Cleggett looked, this remarkable exhibition ceased; the
Wilton Barnstable look dominated the faces again. Plump, yet
dignified, smiling easily and kindly, three plain business men looked
at him; respectable citizens, commonplace citizens, a little smug;
faces that spoke of comfort, method, regularity; eyes that seemed to
wink with the pressure of platitudes in the minds behind them;
platitudes that desired to force their way to the lips and out into the
world.

Yes, such was the genius of Wilton Barnstable that he could at will
impose himself upon people as the apotheosis of the commonplace. He
did it often. It was almost second nature to him now. His urbane smile
was the only visible sign of his own enjoyment of this habitual feat.
He knew his own genius, and smiled to think how easy it was to pass for
an average man!

CHAPTER XXI

THE