Carver.

"Carver!" he whispered. "Do exactly what I tell you. When Burchill goes
out, Trixie and I'll follow him. You pay the bill--then you and Lettie
jump into the first taxi you can get and go to Scotland Yard. Find
Davidge! If Davidge isn't there, get somebody else. Wait there until I
ring you up! What I'll do will be this--we'll follow Burchill, and if I
see that he's going to take to train or cab I'll call help and stop him.
You follow me? As soon as I've taken action, or run him to earth, I'll
ring up Scotland Yard, and then----"

"He's going," announced Carver, who had taken advantage of the many
mirrors to keep his eye on Burchill. "He's off! I understand----"

Triffitt was already leading his sweetheart quietly out. In the gloom of
the street he saw Burchill's tall figure striding away towards Cromwell
Road. Triffitt's companion was an athletically inclined young woman--long
walks in the country on summer Sundays had toughened her powers of
locomotion and she strode out manfully in response to Triffitt's command
to hurry up.

"Lucky that you were with me, Trixie!" exclaimed Triffitt. "You make a
splendid blind. Supposing he does look round and sees that he's being
followed? Why, he'd never think that we were after him. Slip your hand in
my arm--he'll think we're just a couple of sweethearts, going his way.
Gad!--what a surprise! And what a cheek he has--with all those bills out
against him!"

"You don't think he'll shoot you if he catches sight of you?" asked
Trixie, anxiously. "He'd be sure to recognize you, wouldn't he?"

"We'll not come within shooting distance," replied Triffitt grimly. "All
I want to do is to track him. Of course, if he gets into any vehicle,
I'll have to act. Let's draw a bit nearer."

Burchill showed no sign of hailing any vehicle; indeed, he showed no
sign of anything but cool confidence. It was certainly nearly nine
o'clock of a dark winter evening, but there was plenty of artificial
light in the streets, and Burchill made no attempt to escape its glare.
He walked on, smoking a cigar, jauntily swinging an umbrella, he passed
and was passed by innumerable people; more than one policeman glanced at
his tall figure and took no notice. And Triffitt chuckled cynically.

"There you are, Trixie!" he said. "There's a fellow who's wanted about as
badly as can be, whose picture's posted up outside every police-station in
London, and at every port in England, and he walks about, and star