mured. 'Great black lines down the nose, and such spots on the cheek, too!'
'Exactly,' Beddersley put in. 'Those are differences in texture. They show just how much of the man's face is human flesh———'
'And how much wax,' I ventured.
'Not wax,' the expert answered, gazing close. 'This is some harder mixture. I should guess, a composition of gutta-percha and india-rubber, which takes colour well, and hardens when applied, so as to lie quite evenly, and resist heat or melting. Look here; that's an artificial scar, filling up a real hollow; and this is an added bit to the tip of the nose; and those are shadows, due to inserted cheek-pieces, within the mouth, to make the man look fatter!'
'Why, of course,' Charles cried. 'India-rubber it must be. That's why in France they call him le Colonel Caoutchouc!'
'Can you reconstruct the real face from them?' I inquired anxiously.
Dr. Beddersley gazed hard at them. 'Give me an hour or two,' he said—'and a box of water-colours. I think by that time—putting two and two together—I can eliminate the false and build up for you a tolerably correct idea of what the actual man himself looks like.'
We turned him into the library for a couple of hours, with the materials he needed; and by teatime he had completed his first rough sketch of the elements common to the two faces. He brought it
