o
have their hair cut. An old man came forward to receive them. He was
evidently glad of their modest patronage. He undertook to attend to
The Rat himself, but, having arranged him in a chair, he turned about
and called to some one in the back room.

"Heinrich," he said.

In the slit in Marco's sleeve was the sketch of the man with smooth
curled hair, who looked like a hair-dresser. They had found a corner
in which to take their final look at it before they turned back to come
in. Heinrich, who came forth from the small back room, had smooth
curled hair. He looked extremely like a hair-dresser. He had features
like those in the sketch--his nose and mouth and chin and figure were
like what Marco had drawn and committed to memory. But--

He gave Marco a chair and tied the professional white covering around
his neck. Marco leaned back and closed his eyes a moment.

"That is NOT the man!" he was saying to himself. "He is NOT the man."

How he knew he was not, he could not have explained, but he felt sure.
It was a strong conviction. But for the sudden feeling, nothing would
have been easier than to give the Sign. And if he could not give it
now, where was the one to whom it must be spoken, and what would be the
result if that one could not be found? And if there were two who were
so much alike, how could he be sure?

Each owner of each of the pictured faces was a link in a powerful
secret chain; and if a link were missed, the chain would be broken.
Each time Heinrich came within the line of his vision, he recorded
every feature afresh and compared it with the remembered sketch. Each
time the resemblance became more close, but each time some persistent
inner conviction repeated, "No; the Sign is not for him!"

It was disturbing, also, to find that The Rat was all at once as
restless as he had previously been silent and preoccupied. He moved in
his chair, to the great discomfort of the old hair-dresser. He kept
turning his head to talk. He asked Marco to translate divers questions
he wished him to ask the two men. They were questions about the
Citadel--about the Monchsberg--the Residenz--the Glockenspiel--the
mountains. He added one query to another and could not sit still.

"The young gentleman will get an ear snipped," said the old man to
Marco. "And it will not be my fault."

"What shall I do?" Marco was thinking. "He is not the man."

He did not give the Sign. He must go away and think it o