up the street towards
Knightsbridge.

This halt of his had let me up within twenty paces of him. He never
turned his head; but went on presenting me his back, a target not to be
missed. Why not do it now? Better now and here than in a crowded
thoroughfare. My right hand gripped the revolver more tightly.
No, there was plenty of time: and I was curious to know what had brought
Gervase out at this hour: why he had left his guests, or his wife's
guests, to take care of themselves: why he chose to be trudging afoot
through this infernally unpleasant snow.

The roadway in Sloane Street was churned into a brown mass like
chocolate, but the last 'bus had rolled home and left it to freeze in
peace. Half-way up the street I saw Gervase meet and pass a policeman,
and altered my own pace to a lagging walk. Even so, the fellow eyed me
suspiciously as I went by--or so I thought: and guessing that he kept a
watch on me, I dropped still further behind my man. But the lamps were
bright at the end of the street, and I saw him turn to the right by the
great drapery shop at the corner.

Once past this corner I was able to put on a spurt. He crossed the
roadway by the Albert Gate, and by the time he reached the Park railings
the old distance separated us once more. Half-way up the slope he came
to a halt, by the stone drinking-trough: and flattening myself against
the railings, I saw him try the thin ice in the trough with his
finger-tips, but in a hesitating way, as if his thoughts ran on
something else and he scarcely knew what he did or why he did it.
It must have been half a minute before he recovered himself with a shrug
of his shoulders, and plunging both hands deep in his pockets, resumed
his pace.

As we passed Hyde Park Corner I glanced up at the clock there: the time
was between a quarter and ten minutes to one. At the entrance of Down
Street he turned aside again, and began to lead me a zigzag dance
through the quiet thoroughfare: and I followed, still to the tune of the
"Wiener Blut."

But now, at the corner of Charles Street, I blundered against another
policeman, who flashed his lantern in my face, stared after Gervase, and
asked me what my game was. I demanded innocently enough to be shown the
nearest way to Oxford Street, and the fellow, after pausing a moment to
chew his suspicions, walked with me slowly to the south-west corner of
Berkeley Square, and pointed northwards.

"That's your road," he growled