Logotheti, on the other hand, was as yet unaware that Lushington was
the 'some one else' of whom Margaret had spoken twice with evident
feeling. The consequence was that when the Englishman began to give
himself the bitter satisfaction of watching Logotheti, the latter was
very far from suspecting such a thing, and took no pains at all to hide
his doings; and Lushington established himself in Paris and watched
him, in his coming and going, and nursed his jealousy into hatred and
his hatred into action.
He would not have stooped to employ any one in such work, for that
would have seemed like an insult to Margaret, and a piece of cowardice
into the bargain. The time would come when the astute Greek would
discover that he was followed, and Lushington had no intention of
putting some one else in his shoes when that time came; on the
contrary, he looked forward with all a real Englishman's cool
self-confidence to the explanation that must take place some day. But
he wished to remain undiscovered as long as possible.
He had gone back to his old rooms in the Hôtel des Saints Pères, but in
order to disappear more effectually from his acquaintances he took a
lodging, and walked to it, after sending on his belongings. On his way
he stopped at a quiet barber's shop and had his beard and moustache
shaved off. After that it was not likely that any of his acquaintances
would recognise him, but he took further steps towards completing his
disguise by making radical and painful changes in his dress. He bought
ready-made French clothes, he put on a pair of square kid boots with
elastic sides and patent leather tips, he wore a soft silk cravat
artificially tied in a bow knot with wide and floating ends, and he
purchased a French silk hat with a broad and curving brim. Having
satisfied himself that the effect was good, he laid in a stock of
similar articles, and further adorned his appearance with a pair of
tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, and a green umbrella. For possibly
cool or rainy weather he provided himself with a coffee-coloured
overcoat that had a velvet collar and tails reaching almost to the
ground.
When he had been younger Lushington had tried in vain to ruffle his
naturally excessive neatness, but he now realised that he had only
lacked the courage to make a thorough change. In his present costume he
ran no risk of being taken for a smart English lounger, nor for a
French dandy. The effect of forgetting to shave, too, was frightful,
for in forty-eight hours his fair face was covered with shiny bristles
that had a positively metallic look. Though he was so unlike his mother
in most ways, he must have inherited a little of the theatrical
instinct from her, for he wore his disguise as easily as if he had
always been used to it.