envoy; for it was after he had bidden us good-night outside
the Salisbury Hotel that they had turned to follow us. He had told us,
too, that earlier in the evening he had spent a hour smoking and
strolling about Salisbury Court whilst anxiously awaiting Wareham's
arrival with his promised answer. Whether these men were French police
spies, whether they were simply members of some swell mob who know that
the little gentleman with the huge head and the coal-black hair sometimes
journeyed to London with a fortune in diamonds in his possession, must
remain a mystery. As for Wareham and myself, when we had again reached
Fleet Street we hailed a passing hansom and drove away to Waterloo.

VIII

OTHER PERSONAL ADVENTURES

I had another alarm a few days later. Returning one evening by train from
Waterloo, I was followed into the compartment I selected by a party of
five men, two of whom I recognised. One was the landlord of the Raynes
Park Hotel, now deceased, and the other his son. Their companions proved
to be Frenchmen, which somehow struck me as a curious circumstance. This
was the time when a letter addressed by me to Paris for M. Zola appeared
to have gone astray, and when we were therefore rather apprehensive of
some action on the part of the French authorities. Could it be that the
two Frenchmen who had followed me into the railway carriage in the
company of a local licensed victualler were actually staying at Raynes
Park, within half a mile of my home? And, if so, what could be their
purpose?

I remained silent in my corner of the carriage, pretending to read a
newspaper; but on glancing up every now and then I fancied that I
detected one or another of the Frenchmen eyeing me suspiciously. They
conversed in French, either together or with the landlord's son--who
spoke their language, I found--on a variety of commonplace topics until
we had passed Earlsfield and were fast approaching Wimbledon. Then, all
at once, one of them inquired of the other: 'Shall we get out at
Wimbledon or Raynes Park?'

'We'll see,' replied the other; and at the same time it seemed to me that
he darted a very expressive glance in my direction.

I now began to feel rather nervous. It was my own intention to alight at
Wimbledon, as I had an important message from M. Zola to communicate to
Wareham that evening. But it now occurred to me that the best policy
might be to go straight hom