Polton admitted apologetically that he “had done a little in that way. But,” he added, in extenuation, “I have never done any work in wax. And, talking of wax, the doctor will be here presently.”
“Dr. Thorndyke?” Marion asked.
“Yes, Miss. He had some business in Holloway, so he thought he would come on here to make your acquaintance and take a look at the premises.”
“All the same, Mr. Polton,” said I, “I don’t quite see the connection between Dr. Thorndyke and wax.”
He crinkled with a slightly embarrassed air and explained that he must have been thinking of something that the doctor had said to him; but his explanations were cut short by a knock at the door.
“That is his knock,” said Polton; and he and I together proceeded to open the door, when I inducted the distinguished visitor into the studio and presented him to the presiding goddess. I noticed that each of them inspected the other with some curiosity, and that the first impressions appeared to be mutually satisfactory, though Marion was at first a little overawed by Thorndyke’s impressive personality.
“You mustn’t let me interrupt your work,” the latter said, when the preliminary politenesses had been exchanged. “I have just come to fill in Dr. Gray’s outline sketches with details of my own observing. I wanted to see you—to convert a name into an actual person, to see the studio for the same reason, and to get as precise a description as possible of the man whom we are trying to identify. Will it distress you to recall his appearance?”
She had turned a little pale at the mention of her late assailant, but she answered stoutly enough: “Not at all; besides, it is necessary.”
“Thank you,” said he; “then I will read out the description that I had from Dr. Gray, and we will see if you can add anything to it.”
He produced a notebook, from which he read out the particulars that I had given him, at the conclusion of which he looked at her inquiringly.
“I think that is all that I remember,” she said. “There was very little light, and I really only glanced at him.”
Thorndyke looked at her reflectively. “It is a fairly full description,” said he. “Perhaps the nose is a little sketchy. You speak of a hooked nose with a high bridge. Was it a curved nose of the Jewish type, or a squarer, Roman nose?”
“It was rather square in profile; a Wellington nose, but with a rather broad base. Like a vulture’s beak, and very large.”
“Was it actually a hooknose? I mean, had it a drooping tip?”
“Yes, the tip projected downwards and it was rather sharp—not bulbous.”
“And the chin? Should you call it a pronounced or a retreating chin?”
“Oh, it was quite a projecting chin, rather of the Wellington type.”
Thorndyke reflected once more; then, having jotted down the answers to his questions, he closed the book and returned it to his pocket.
“It is a great thing to have a trained eye,” he remarked. “In your one glance you saw more than an ordinary person would have noted in a leisurely inspection in a good light. You have no doubt that you would know this man again if you should meet him?”
“Not the slightest,” she replied, with a shudder. “I can see him now if I shut my eyes.”
“Well,” he rejoined, with a smile, “I wouldn’t recall that unpleasant vision too often, if I were you. And now, may I, without disturbing you further, just take a look round the premises?”
“But, of course, Dr. Thorndyke,” she replied. “Do exactly what you please.”
With this permission, he drew away and stood for some moments letting a very reflective eye travel round the interior; and meanwhile I watched him curiously and wondered what he had really come for. His first proceeding was to walk slowly round the studio and examine closely, one by one, all the casts which hung on pegs. Next, in the same systematic manner, he inspected all the shelves, mounting a chair to examine the upper ones. It was after scrutinizing one of the latter that he turned towards Marion and asked:
“Have you moved these casts lately, Miss D’Arblay?”
“No,” she replied; “so far as I know, they have not been touched for months.”
“Someone has moved them within the last day or two,” said he. “Apparently the nocturnal explorer went over the shelves as well as the cupboard.”
“I wonder why,” said Marion. “There were no moulds on the shelves.”
Thorndyke made no rejoinder, but as he stood on the chair he once more ran his eye round the studio. Suddenly he stepped down from the chair, picked it up, carried it over to the tall cupboard, and once more mounted it. His stature enabled him easily to look over the cornice on to the top of the cupboard, and it was evident that something there had attracted his attention.
“Here is a derelict of some sort,” he announced, “which certainly has not been moved for some months.” As he spoke, he reached over the cornice into the enclosed space and lifted out an excessively grimy plaster mask, from which he blew the thick coating of dust, and then stood for a while looking at it thoughtfully.
“A striking face this,” he remarked, “but not attractive. It rather suggests a Russian or Polish Jew; do you recognize the person, Miss D’Arblay?”
He stepped down from the chair, and handed the mask to Marion, who had advanced to look at it, and who now held it in her hand regarding it with a frown of perplexity.
“This is very curious,” she said. “I thought I knew all the casts that have been made here. But I have never seen this one before, and I don’t know the face. I wonder who he was. It doesn’t look like an English face, but I should hardly have taken it for the face of a Jew, with that rather small and nearly straight nose.”
“The East-European Jews are not a very pure breed,”
