But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. They knew they were all Bogey in disguise. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion.
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