After all, this could never be the black sheep. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. Take your pick, Mrs. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly.
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