“The sergeant-major touched his cap—­he always wore a cap indoors—­without speaking.  He was the most taciturn and incurious man that I have ever met.

“When I had taken a look round the laboratory and made a few preparations, I departed, going out by the museum entrance.  It was as well to get the sergeant-major used to these casual, unannounced appearances and disappearances.  I walked slowly back to Whitechapel, turning over my plans for the removal of the casks.  At first I had thought of taking them to Pickford’s receiving office.  But there was danger in this, though it was a remote danger.  If one of the casks should be accidentally dropped it would certainly burst, and then—­I had no particular objection to being killed, but I had a very great objection to being sent to Broadmoor.  So I decided to effect the removal myself with the aid of the builder’s truck that I had allowed the owner to keep in my yard.  But this plan involved the adoption of some sort of disguise; a very slight one would be sufficient, as it was merely to prevent recognition by casual strangers.

“Now, among the stock of my predecessor, Polensky, I had found a collection of powder colors, grease paints, toupee-paste, spirit-gum and other materials which threw a curious light on his activities.  On my return to the shop I made a few experiments with these materials and was astonished to find on what trivial peculiarities facial expression depends.  For instance, I discovered that a strip of court-plaster, carried tightly up the middle of the forehead—­where it would be hidden by a hat—­altered the angle of the eyebrows and completely changed the expression, and that a thin scumble of purple, rubbed on the nose, totally altered the character of the face.  This was deeply interesting; and, as it finally disposed of one difficulty, it left me free to consider the rest of my plans, which I continued to do until every possible emergency was anticipated and provided for.

“Early on Monday morning I went out and purchased four lengths of stout quartering—­two long and two short—­a coil of rope, a two-block tackle of the kind known to mariners as a ‘handy Billy’ and a pair of cask-grips.  With the quartering and some lengths of rope I made two cask-slides, a long one for the cellar and a short one for the hand-cart.  Placing the long slide in position, I greased it with cart-grease, hooked the tackle above the upper end, attached the grips and very soon had the three casks hoisted up into the passage that opened into the back yard.  With the aid of the short slide and the tackle, I ran them up into the cart, lashed them firmly in position with the stout rope, threw in the slide and tackle and was ready to start.  Running into the shop, I fixed the necessary strip of court-plaster on my forehead, tinted my nose, and, having pocketed the stick of paint and a piece of plaster, put on my shabbiest overcoat and a neck-cloth, trod on my hat and jammed it on my head so that it should cover the strip of plaster.  Then I went out and, trundling the cart into the alley, locked the back gate and set forth on my journey.