se he leaped into a
taxi, and told the man to drive to Oxford Circus.

He had behaved like a fool, and like a fool he had been trapped, but the
game was not yet up. His identity was unknown, and by avoiding the
neighbourhood of the restaurant he could with ease cut himself off from
all likelihood of encountering the Brethren. Lessing's blood tingled in
his veins, his whole being was flooded with exhilaration. Here was
life, here was excitement, here, at long last, within the confines of
the grey city itself, was the thrill of pursuit! For they would be
after him, following him no doubt in one of the numerous cars blocking
the roads, with intent to track him to his lair, but Lessing laughed at
the thought with glad youthful confidence. He was not to be caught
twice over. He would give them a run--such a run as they had not known
for many a long day, but he would slip them in the end!

It was two hours later when Lessing let himself into his rooms, but he
entered with the smiling face of the man who wins; and in good truth he
had reason to be proud. He had dodged, he had evaded, he had doubled
back on his own tracks with an almost incredible celerity. He had left
crowded Tube carriages, lost himself in the crowd on the platform, and
jumped back into the same carriage, the last passenger to enter before
the door was closed. He had changed from taxi to train, from train to
taxi, and once, finding himself in a stationary block, had deposited
half a crown on the seat of his own car, stepped deftly on to an
adjacent "island," and opening the door of an empty growler, hunched
himself up on the floor, and remained concealed until it suited his
convenience to descend. Oh! he had been swift, he had been cunning;
always he had acted on the assumption that the pursuer was at hand;
never for one moment had he relaxed guard, or allowed himself to slow
down. Now he was tired, dog tired, but with a glorious fatigue. Not
for the world would he have foregone one incident of that most thrilling
dash!

Lessing slept, and woke to a fine spring morning. He rang for his
newspaper, and turned rapidly over the pages. Nothing had happened.
The warning had been delivered in time; the grey old city was
undisturbed.

But that night when Lessing returned to his chambers he found a letter
awaiting him, addressed in an unknown handwriting. He tore it open, and
read the few words which it contained:

"Traitor,--The doom which you