"What?" That's so odd a question to him that he pauses to look at César again. "Yes, of course I do. It suits you wonderfully. Here, you have chalk in it again." Watson steps close again, this time pulling out a handkerchief. "It must be all over your fingers. Honestly."

He presses the cloth into César's hands, and then goes about tidying up his beard for him again. "We are rapidly giving up any pretence of secrecy, you realise. I think perhaps we are not very good at this."