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“I thought as much,” said the one who set me on my way. “Hi, you! Wait a moment, please;” then to the other, “Best turn his pockets out, Jim.”

“If you dare to try–” I began, with my hand in my pocket: the next moment I found myself sprawling face downward on the sharp crust of snow.

“Hullo, constables!” said a voice. “What’s the row?” It was Gervase. He had turned leisurely back from the slope of Conduit Street, and came strolling down the road with his hands in his pockets.

“This fellow, Sir–we have reason to think he was followin’ you.”

“Quite right,” Gervase answered cheerfully, “of course he was.”

“Oh, if you knew it, Sir–“

“Certainly I knew it. In fact, he was following at my invitation.”

“What for did he tell me a lie, then?” grumbled the constable, chapfallen.

I had picked myself up by this time and was wiping my face. “Look here,” I put in, “I asked you the way to Oxford Street, that and nothing else.” And I went on to summarise my opinion of him.

“Oh! it’s you can swear a bit,” he growled. “I heard you just now.”

“Yes,” Gervase interposed suavely, drawing the glove from his right hand and letting flash a diamond finger-ring in the lamp-light. “He is a bit of a beast, policeman, and it’s not for the pleasure of it that I want his company.”

A sovereign passed from hand to hand. The other constable had discreetly drawn off a pace or two.

“All the same, it’s a rum go.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Gervase assented in his heartiest tone. “Here is my card, in case you’re not satisfied.”

“If you’re satisfied, Sir–“

“Quite so. Good night!” Gervase thrust both hands into his pockets again and strode off. I followed him, with a heart hotter than ever– followed him like a whipped cur, as they say. Yes, that was just it. He who had already robbed me of everything else had now kicked even the pedestal from under me as a figure of tragedy. Five minutes ago I had been the implacable avenger tracking my unconscious victim across the city. Heaven knows how small an excuse it was for self-respect; but one who has lost character may yet chance to catch a dignity from circumstances; and to tell the truth, for all my desperate earnestness I had allowed my vanity to take some artistic satisfaction in the sinister chase. It had struck me–shall I say?–as an effective ending, nor had I failed to note that the snow lent it a romantic touch.

And behold, the unconscious victim knew all about it, and had politely interfered when a couple of unromantic “Bobbies” threatened the performance by tumbling the stalking avenger into the gutter! They had knocked my tragedy into harlequinade as easily as you might bash in a hat; and my enemy had refined the cruelty of it by coming to the rescue and ironically restarting the poor play on lines of comedy. I saw too late that I ought to have refused his help, to have assaulted the constable and been hauled to the police-station. Not an impressive wind-up, to be sure; but less humiliating than this! Even so, Gervase might have trumped the poor card by following with a gracious offer to bail me out!

As it was, I had put the whip into his hand, and must follow him like a cur. The distance he kept assured me that the similitude had not escaped him. He strode on without deigning a single glance behind, still in cold derision presenting me his broad back and silently challenging me to shoot. And I followed, hating him worse than ever, swearing that the last five minutes should not be forgotten, but charged for royally when the reckoning came to be paid.

I followed thus up Conduit Street, up Regent Street, and across the Circus. The frost had deepened and the mud in the roadway crackled under our feet. At the Circus I began to guess, and when Gervase struck off into Great Portland Street, and thence by half-a-dozen turnings northward by east, I knew to what house he was leading me.