omfortable. I had a kind of unpleasant sensation that somehow or
other I was not quite playing the game.

Still, as I have said elsewhere, an escaped convict cannot afford to
be too nice in his emotions, so I returned her kiss with the same
readiness and warmth as I had done before. Then, straightening myself,
I unlaced her arms from my neck, and looked down smilingly into those
strange dark eyes that were turned up to mine.

"I'm a poor sort of host," I said, "but you see I am a little out of
training. Won't you have some tea or anything, Sonia?"

"No, no," she answered quickly. "I don't want anything. I must go in a
minute; I have to meet my father with the car." Then, taking my hand
between hers, she added: "Tell me what you have been doing yourself.
Have you seen your cousin--the man who lied about you at the trial? I
have been afraid about him; I have been afraid that you would kill him
and perhaps be found out."

"There's no hurry about it," I said. "It's rather pleasant to have
something to look forward to."

"But you have seen him?"

I nodded. "I had the pleasure of walking behind him for a couple of
miles yesterday. He looks a little worried, but quite well otherwise."

She laughed softly. "Ah, you can afford to let him wait. And the girl,
Joyce? Have you seen her?"

She asked the question quite dispassionately, and yet in some curious
way I had a sudden vague feeling of menace and danger. Anyhow, I lied
as readily and instinctively as Ananias.

"No," I said. "George is the only part of my past that interests me
now."

I thought I saw the faintest possible expression of satisfaction
flicker across her face, but if so it was gone immediately.

"Sonia," I said, "there is a question I want to ask you. Am I
developing nerves, or have I really been watched and followed since I
came to London?"

She looked at me steadily. "What makes you think so?" she asked.

"Well," I said, "it may be only my imagination, but I have an idea
that a gentleman with a scar on his face has been taking a rather
affectionate interest in my movements."

For a moment she hesitated; then with a rather scornful little laugh
she shrugged her shoulders. "I told them it was unnecessary!" she
said.

I crushed down the exclamation that nearly rose to my lips. So the man
with the scar _was_ one of McMurtrie's emissaries, after all, and his
dealings with Mr. Bruce Latimer most certainly did concern me. The
feeling that I was enta