Grove was attired from head to foot in tones of deepest, darkest gray. His shirt was the singular exception. It was a pristine white. The collar was turned back in the new "gates ajar" mode that appeared to be infinitely more comfortable than the usual high-standing styles. His tie was knotted in a precise four-in-hand.

No wonder she had been having so much trouble trying to decide how to dress Edmund Drake. She had been at-tempting to put him into the sort of boldly striped pants and brightly patterned shirts that she had observed on any number of fashionable gentlemen lately. Such glaringly bright attire was entirely wrong for Edmund. He needed to project menace and an aura of resolute determination. Polka dots, stripes and plaids did not suit him at all.

She wrote Dark gray jacket and trousers without glancing down at the paper.

Grove sat in the wingback chair in front of the hearth. "I see I have interrupted your morning correspondence. Again, my apologies."

"Think nothing of it, sir." She gave him her most reassuring smile. "I am merely making a few notes to remind myself of some small details that must be attended to later"

"I see"

Grove's hair was just right for Edmund Drake, too, she thought. It was of a hue that was very nearly black with the merest smattering of silver at the temples. It was cut short and brushed close to his head. He had not succumbed to the current rage for mustaches and short beards, but she could see the hint of a dark shadow on the hard planes and angles of his face. She realized that he had not shaved that morning. How odd.

Edmund Drake's clothing and hairstyle were not the only things that would have to be changed in order to make the character more ominous. She saw at once that she had erred when she had decided to portray him as handsome. It was quite clear to her now that his features should have the same chillingly ascetic lines that marked Adam Grove's face. Indeed, Drake must become a man who had been shaped by the hot, refining fires of a harsh and murky past.