Thanks to some out-of-the-way
knowledge Davenport had picked up in the theoretic study of music and
elocution, he felt confident to deal with the voice difficulty. I'll come
to that later, when I arrive at the performance of all these operations
which he was studying out; for of course he didn't make the slightest
beginning on the actual transformation until his plan was complete and
every facility offered. That was not till the last night you saw him,
Larcher,--the night before his disappearance.
"For operations so delicate, meant to be so lasting in their effect, so
important to the welfare of his new self, Davenport saw the necessity of
a perfect design before the first actual touch. He could not erase
errors, or paint them over, as an artist does. He couldn't rub out
misplaced lines and try again, as an actor can in 'making up.' He had
learned a good deal about theatrical make-up, by the way, in his contact
with the stage. His plan was to use first the materials employed by
actors, until he should succeed in producing a countenance to his
liking; and then, by surgical means, to make real and permanent the sham
and transient effects of paint-stick and pencil. He would violently
compel nature to register the disguise and maintain it.
"He was favored in one essential matter--that of a place in which to
perform his operations with secrecy, and to let the wounds heal at
leisure. To be observed during the progress of the transformation would
spoil his purpose and be highly inconvenient besides.
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