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It was a strange scene that met the eyes of the Deputy Commissioner--probably the strangest in the course of a remarkable career. There in the dim half-light Sebastian Wilde sat at the head of the table, utterly unmoved, to all outward appearance, and preserving the benevolent aspect with which his massive head and flowing hair and beard endowed him, much as if he had been some patriarch in the old scriptural days. He looked from one to the other without the slightest change of colour and, indeed, as if he had been a spectator in the stalls watching some thrilling melodrama.
On the screen on the far side of the room the shadowy outline of Trevor Capner's counterfeit presentment still displayed itself in the dim rays of the lamp that seemed to shine through the trap-door in the loft overhead, where all Wilde's elaborate machinery was set up.