I turned down Oxford Street, whose perspective of gas-lamps stretched

east and west to distances apparent infinite, and as I did so I

suddenly knew that some one was standing by the railings opposite,

under the shadow of the great trees. I had been so sure that I was

alone that this discovery startled me a little, and I began to whistle

tunelessly.

I could make out no details of the figure, except that it was a man

who stood there, and to satisfy my curiosity I went across to inspect

him. To my astonishment he was very well, though very quietly,

dressed, and had the appearance of being a gentleman of the highest

distinction. His face was clean-shaven, and I noticed the fine, firm

chin, and the clear, unblinking eyes. He stood quite still, and as I

approached looked me full in the face. It was a terrible gaze, and I

do not mind confessing that, secretly, I quailed under it; there was

malice and a dangerous hate in that gaze. Nevertheless I was young,

careless, and enterprising.

"Can you tell me if I am likely to get a cab at this time of night?" I

asked as lightly as I could. I wanted to hear his voice.

But he returned no answer, merely gazing at me as before, without a

movement.

"Strange!" I said, half to myself. "The fellow must be deaf, or mad,

or a foreigner."

The man smiled slightly, his lips drooping to a sneer. I retreated,

and as I stepped back on the curb my foot touched some small object. I

looked down, and in the dim light, for the dawn was already heralded,

I saw the glitter of jewels. I stooped and picked the thing up. It was

the same little dagger which but a few hours before I had seen Rosa

present with so much formality to Sir Cyril Smart. But there was this

difference--the tiny blade was covered with blood!




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