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!