A silent witness
And how very transparent it is; too transparent for most subjects.”
Here she gave a quick, nervous glance at me, and I was aware of a
shadow thrown by some person standing behind me. Had our friend risen
to the bait already? I continued the conversation in good audible
tones.
“Very awkward these isolated pedestals would be for slovenly artists
who scamp the back of their work.”
With this remark I moved round the pedestal as if to examine the back
of the bust, and Sylvia followed. The move brought us opposite the
person who had been standing behind me; and, sure enough, it was the
gentleman from the settee. I continued to talk--rather blatantly, I
fear--commenting on the careful treatment of the hair and the backs of
the ears; and meanwhile took an occasional swift glance at the man
opposite. He appeared to be gazing in wrapt admiration at the bust,
but his glance, too, occasionally wandered; and when it did, the
“point of fixation,” as the oculists would express it, was Sylvia’s
crucifix, which was still uncovered.
Presently I ventured to take a good, steady look at him and was for a
few moments unobserved. His left eye moved, as I could see, quite
smoothly and evenly from point to point; but the right, at each change
of position, gave a little, rapid, vertical oscillation. Suddenly he
became aware of my, now undisguised, inspection of him, and,
immediately, the oscillation became much more marked, as is often the
case with these spasmodic movements. Perhaps he was conscious of the
fact; at any rate, he turned his head away and then moved off to
examine a statuette that stood near the middle of the room.
I looked after him, wondering what I ought to do. That he was the man
whom I had seen on the two previous occasions I had not the slightest
doubt, although I was still unable to identify his features or
anything about him excepting the nystagmus and the left-handed
condition. But there could be no question that he was the same man;
and this very variability in his appearance only gave a more sinister
significance to the affair, pointing clearly, as it did, to careful
and efficient disguise. Evidently he had been, and still was,
shadowing me, and, what was still worse, he seemed to be taking a most
undesirable interest in Sylvia. And yet what could I do? My small
knowledge of the law suggested that shadowing was not a criminal act
unless some unlawful intent could be proved. As to punching the
fellow’s head--which was what I felt most inclined to do--that would
merely give rise to disagreeable, and perhaps dangerous, publicity.
“My lord is pleased to meditate,” Sylvia remarked at length, breaking
in upon my brown study.
“I beg your pardon,” I exclaimed. “The fact is I was wondering what we
had better do next. Do you want to see anything else?”
“I should rather like to see the outside of the building,” she
answered. “That man has made me quite nervous.”
“Then we will go at once, and we won’t sign the visitor’s book.”
I led her to the door, and, as we rapidly descended the carpeted
stairs, I considered once more what it were best to do. Had I been
alone I would have kept our watcher in view and done a little
shadowing on my own account; but Sylvia’s presence made me uneasy. It
was of the first importance that this sinister stranger should not
learn where she lived. The only reasonable course seemed to be to give
him the slip if possible.
“What did you make of that man?” Sylvia asked when we were outside in
the square. “Don’t you think he was watching us?”
“Yes, I do. And I may say that I have seen him before.”
She turned a terrified face to me and asked: “You don’t think he is
the wretch who pushed you into the river?”
Now this was exactly what I did think, but it was not worth while to
say so. Accordingly I temporized.
“It is impossible to say. I never saw that man, you know. But I have
reason for thinking that this fellow is keeping a watch on me, and it
occurs to me that, if he appears still to be following us, I had
better put you into a hansom and keep my eye on him until you are out
of sight.”
“Oh, I’m not going to agree to that,” she replied with great decision.
“I don’t suppose that my presence is much protection to you, but
still, you are safer while we are together, and I’m not going to leave
you.”
This settled the matter. Of course she was quite right. I was much
safer while she was with me, and if she refused to go off alone, we
must make our escape together. I looked up the square as we turned out
of it towards the Charing Cross Road, but could see no sign of our
follower, and, as we walked on at a good pace, I hoped that we might
get clear away. But I was not going to take any chances. Before
turning homewards, I decided to walk sharply some distance in an
easterly direction and then see if there was any sign of pursuit; for
my previous experiences of this good gentleman led me to suspect that
he was by no means without skill and experience in the shadowing art.
We walked down to Charing Cross and turned eastward along the north
side of the Strand. I had chosen this thoroughfare as offering a good
cover to a pursuer, who could easily keep out of sight among the crowd
of way-farers who thronged the pavement for the first question to be
settled was whether we were or were not being shadowed.
“Where are we going now?” Sylvia asked.
“We are going up Bedford Street,” I answered. “There is a book shop on
the right-hand side where we can loiter unobtrusively and keep a
look-out. If we see nobody, we will try one of the courts off Maiden
Lane where we should be certain to catch anyone who was following. But
we will try the bookstall first because, if our friend is in
attendance, I have a rather neat plan for getting rid of him.”
We accordingly made our way to the bookstall in Bedford Street and
began systematically to look through the second-hand volumes; and as
we pored over an open book, we were able to keep an effective watch on
the end of the street and the Strand beyond. Our vigil was not a long
one. We had been at the stall less than a minute when Sylvia whispered
to me:
“Do you see that man looking in the shop on the farther side of the
Strand?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I have noticed him. He has only just arrived, and I
fancy he is our man. If he is, he will probably go into the doorway so
as not to have to keep his back to us.”
Almost as I spoke, the man moved into the deep doorway as if to
inspect the end of the shop window, and Sylvia exclaimed:
“I’m sure that is the man. I can see his profile now.”
There could be no doubt of the man’s identity; and, at this moment, as
if to clinch the matter, he took out a cigarette and lighted it,
striking the match with his left hand.
“Come along,” said I. “We will now try my little plan for getting rid
of him. We mustn’t seem to hurry.”
We sauntered up to the corner of Maiden Lane and there stood for a few
moments looking about us. Then we strolled across to the farther side
of Chandos Street, and, as soon as we were out of sight of our
follower, crossed the road and slipped in at the entrance to the Civil
Service Stores. Passing quickly through the provision department, we
halted at the glazed doors, from which we could look out through the
Bedford Street entrance.
“There he is!” exclaimed Sylvia. And there he was, sure enough,
walking rather quickly up the east side of Bedford Street.
“Now,” said I, “let us make a bolt for it. This way.”
We darted out through the china, furniture and ironmongery
departments, across the whole width of the building and out of the
Agar Street entrance, where we immediately crossed into King William
Street, turned down Adelaide Street, shot through the alley by St.
Martin’s Church, and came out opposite the National Portrait Gallery
just as a yellow omnibus was about to start. We sprang into the moving
vehicle, and, as it rumbled away into the Charing Cross Road, we kept
a sharp watch on the end of King William Street. But there was no sign
of our pursuer. We had got rid of him for the present, at any rate.
“Don’t you think,” said Sylvia, “that he will suspect that we went
into the Stores?”
“I have no doubt he will, and that is where we have him. He can’t come
away and leave the building unsearched. Most probably he is, at this
very moment, racing madly up and down the stairs and trying to watch
the three entrances at the same time.”
Sylvia chuckled gleefully. “It has been quite good fun,” she said,
“but I am glad we have shaken him off. I think I shall stay indoors
for a day or two and paint, and I hope you’ll stay indoors, too. And
that reminds me that I am out of Heyl’s white. I must call in at
Robinson’s and get a pound tube. Do you mind? It won’t delay us more
than a few minutes.”
Now I would much rather have gone straight on to Hampstead, for our
unknown attendant certainly knew the whereabouts of my lodgings and
might follow us when he failed to find us in the stores. Moreover, I
had, of late, given the neighbourhood of the artist’s-colourman’s shop
a rather wide berth, having seen Mrs. Samway from afar once or twice,
thereabouts, and having surmised that she tended to haunt that
particular part of the Hampstead Road. But the fresh supply of flake
white seemed to be a necessity, so I made no objection, and we
accordingly alighted opposite the shop and entered. Nevertheless,
while Sylvia was making her purchase, I stood near the glass door and
kept a watchful eye on the street. When a tram stopped a short
distance away, I glanced quickly over its passengers, as well as I
could, though without observing anyone who might have been our absent
friend. But just as it was about to move on, I saw a woman run out
from the pavement and enter; and though I got but an indifferent view
of her, I felt an uncomfortable suspicion that the woman was Mrs.
Samway.
Looking back, I do not quite understand why I had avoided this woman
or why I now looked with distaste on the fact that she was travelling
in our direction. She was a pleasant-spoken, intelligent person, and I
had no dislike of her, nor any cause for dislike. Perhaps it was the
recollection of the offence that she had given Sylvia in this very
shop, but a short time since, that made me unwilling to encounter her
now in Sylvia’s company. At any rate, whatever the course may have
been, throughout the, otherwise, pleasant journey, and in spite of an
animated and interesting conversation, the thought of Mrs. Samway
continually recurred, and this notwithstanding that I kept a constant,
unobtrusive look-out for the mysterious spy who might, even now, be
hovering in our rear.
We alighted from the tram at the “Duke of St. Alban’s” and made our
way to North End by way of the Highgate Ponds. As we crossed the open
fields and the Heath, I turned at intervals to see if there was any
sign of our being followed; but no suspicious-looking person appeared
in sight, though on two separate occasions, I noticed a woman ahead of
us, and walking in much the same direction, turn round and look our
way. There was no reason, however, to suppose that she was looking at
us, and, in any case, she was too far ahead to be recognizable. At
last, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Spaniard’s Road, she
finally disappeared, possibly into the hollow beyond, and I saw no
more of her.
At the gate of “The Hawthorns” I delivered up the heavy tube of paint,
and thus, as it were, formally brought our little outing to an end;
and as we shook hands Sylvia treated me to a parting exhortation.
“Now do take care of yourself and keep out of harm’s way,” she urged.
“You are so large, you see,” she added with a smile, “and such a very
conspicuous object that you ought to take special precautions. And you