'Who told you of him?' I inquired. 'Not Dr. Quackenboss, I hope; nor yet Mr. Algernon Coleyard?'
Charles paused and reflected. 'No, neither of them,' he answered, after a short internal deliberation. 'It was that magazine editor chap we met at Wrengold's.'
'He's all right,' I said; 'or, at least, I think so.'
So we wrote a polite invitation to Dr. Beddersley, who pursued the method professionally, asking him to come and lunch with us at Mayfair at two next day.
Dr. Beddersley came—a dapper little man, with pent-house eyebrows, and keen, small eyes, whom I suspected at sight of being Colonel Clay himself in another of his clever polymorphic embodiments. He was clear and concise. His manner was scientific. He told us at once that though the Bertillon method was of little use till the expert had seen the criminal once, yet if we had consulted him earlier he might probably have saved us some serious disasters. 'A man so ingenious as this,' he said, 'would no doubt have studied Bertillon's principles himself, and would take every possible means to prevent recognition by them. Therefore, you might almost disregard the nose, the chin, the moustache, the hair, all of which are capable of such easy alteration. But there remain some features which are more likely to persist—height, shape of head, neck, build, and fingers; the timbre of the voice, the colour of the iris. Even
