"Do you keep costumes?" I asked.
"Anything you like, sir, from a crusader to a modern gentleman,"--with
grim and appropriate irony. "What is it you are in search of--a
masquerade costume?'"
"Only a grey mask," I answered. "I am going to a masked ball to-night
as a Grey Capuchin, and I want a mask that will match my robe."
"Your wants are simple."
From a shelf he brought down a box, took off the cover, and left me to
make my selection. Soon I found what I desired and laid it aside,
waiting for Monsieur Friard to return. Again I observed the other
customer. There is always a mystery to be solved and a story to be
told, when a man makes the purchase of a pistol in a pawnshop. A man
who buys a pistol for the sake of protection does so in the light of
day, and in the proper place, a gun-shop. He does not haunt the
pawnbroker in the dusk of evening. Well, it was none of my business;
doubtless he knew what he was doing. I coughed suggestively, and
Friard came slipping in my direction again.
"This is what I want. How much?" I inquired.
[Illustration: "This is what I want. How much?" I inquired.]
"Fifty cents; it has never been worn."
I drew out my wallet. I had arrived in town too late to go to the
bank, and I was carrying an uncomfortably large sum in gold-bills.
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