he house as
unobtrusively as possible, and, stopping at a little newspaper and
tobacco shop round the first corner, invested in a _Telegraph_ and a
_Sportsman_. Then, after making sure that I was not being followed, I
set off for the embankment.

Some of the seats were already occupied by gentlemen and ladies who
had apparently been using them in preference to an hotel, but as luck
would have it the one opposite George's house was empty. I seated
myself in the corner, and after cutting and lighting a cigar with the
care that such an excellent brand deserved, I prepared to beguile my
wait by reading the _D.T_.

Nothing particularly thrilling seemed to have been happening in the
world, but I can't say I felt any sense of disappointment. Just at
present my own life afforded me all the excitement my system needed.
The only important item of news that I could find was a rather
offensive speech by the German Chancellor with reference to the
dispute with England. It was a surprising utterance for a statesman in
his position, and the _Telegraph_ had improved the occasion by writing
one of its longest and stateliest leaders on provocative politicians.

I had just finished reading this effort when George appeared. He came
out of the front door and down the steps of his house, dressed as
usual in a well-fitting frock-coat and tall hat, such as he had always
affected in the old days. I stared at him with a sort of hungry
satisfaction. He looked pale and harassed, and he carried his head
bent forward like a man whose mind was unpleasantly preoccupied. It
warmed my heart to see him.

When he had gone some little way along the pavement, I got up from my
seat and began to keep pace with him on the other side of the roadway.
It was easy work, for he walked slowly, and stared at the ground as
though fully taken up with his own thoughts. I was not the least
frightened of his recognizing me, but as a matter of fact he never
even looked across in my direction.

We marched along in this fashion as far as Vauxhall Bridge Road, where
George turned up to the left in the direction of Victoria Street.
I walked on a bit, so as to allow him to get about a hundred yards
ahead, and then coming back followed in his track. As he drew nearer
to the station I began to close up the gap, and all the way along
Victoria Street I was only about ten yards behind him. It was
tantalizing work, for he was just the right distance for a running
kick.

The