But he had no intention of passing. As he came up to me, he, too, halted, and, looking into my face with undissembled curiosity, he addressed me in a brusque though not uncivil tone.
“Now, sir, I must ask you to explain what is going on.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded.
“I’ll tell you,” he replied. “I saw you, a little time ago, climb over the railings and hide behind a gatepost. Then I saw a man come up in a deuce of a hurry and turn into the lane. I saw him stop and listen for a moment and then bustle off down the hill. Close on this fellow’s heels comes another man, also in a devil of a hurry. He turns into the lane, too, and suddenly he pulls up and creeps forward on tiptoe like a cat on hot bricks. He stops and listens, too; and then off he goes down the lane like a lamplighter. Then out you come from behind the gatepost, over the railings you climb, and then you creep up to the corner and listen, and then off you go down the hill like another lamplighter. Now, sir, what’s it all about?”
“I assume,” said I, repressing a strong tendency to giggle, “that you have some authority for making these inquiries?”
“I have, sir,” he replied. “I am a police officer on plain-clothes duty. I happened to be at the corner of Hornsey Lane when I saw you coming down the High Street walking in a queer sort of way as if you couldn’t see where you were going. So I drew back into the shadow and had a look at you. Then I saw you nip into the lane and climb over the railings, so I waited to see what was going to happen next. And then those other two came along. Well, now, I ask you again, sir, what’s going on? What is it all about?”
“The fact is,” I said a little sheepishly, “I thought the first man was following me, so I hid just to see what he was up to.”
“What about the second man?”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
“What do you know about the first man?”
“Nothing, except that he certainly was following me.”
“Why should he be following you?”
“I can’t imagine. He is a stranger to me, and so is the other man.”
“Hm,” said the officer, regarding me with a distrustful eye. “Damn funny affair. I think you had better walk up to the station with me and give us a few particulars about yourself.”
“I will with pleasure,” said I. “But I am not altogether a stranger there. Inspector Follett knows me quite well. My name is Gray—Dr. Gray.”
The officer did not reply for a few moments. He seemed to be listening to something. And now my ear caught the sound of footsteps approaching hurriedly from down the lane. As they drew near, my friend peered into the darkness and muttered in an undertone:
“Will that be one of ’em coming back?” He listened again for a moment or two, and then, resuming his inquiries, said aloud: “You say Inspector Follett knows you. Well, perhaps you had better come and see Inspector Follett.”
As he finished speaking, he again listened intently, and his mouth opened slightly. I suspect my own did, too. For the footsteps had ceased. There was now a dead silence in the lane.
“That chap has stopped to listen,” my new friend remarked in a low voice. “We had better see what his game is. Come along, sir;” and with this he strode off at a pace that taxed my powers to keep up with him.
But at the very moment that he started, the footsteps became audible again, only now they were obviously retreating; and straining my ears I caught the faint sound of other and more distant footfalls, also retreating, so far as I could judge, and in the same hurried fashion.
For a couple of minutes the officer swung along like a professional pedestrian, and I struggled on just behind him, perspiring freely, and wishing that I could shed my overcoat. Still, despite our efforts, there was no sign of our gaining on the men ahead. My friend evidently realized this, for he presently growled over his shoulder, “This won’t do,” and forthwith broke into a run.
Instantly this acceleration communicated itself to the men in front. The rhythm of both sets of footfalls showed that our forerunners were literally justifying that description of them; and as both had necessarily given up any attempt to move silently, the sounds of their retreat were borne to us quite distinctly. And from those sounds the unsatisfactory conclusion emerged that they were drawing ahead pretty rapidly. My friend, the officer, was, as I have said, an uncommonly fine walker. But he was no runner. His figure was against him. He was fully six feet in height and he had a “presence.” He could have walked me off my legs; but when it came to running I found myself ambling behind him with such ease that I was able to get out my pistol and, after replacing the safety-catch, stow the weapon in my hip pocket, out of harm’s way.
However, if my friend was no sprinter he was certainly a stayer, for he lumbered on doggedly until the lane entered the new neighbourhood of Dartmouth Park; and here it was that the next act opened. We had just passed the end of the first of the streets when I saw a surprisingly agile policeman dart out from a shady corner and follow on in our wake in proper Lillie Bridge style. I immediately put on a spurt and shot past my companion, and a few moments later sounds of objurgation arose from behind. I stopped at once and turned back, just
