"But you have been following me."
His manner changed at once.
"Ever since you left Piccadilly, Sir Thomas, waiting my opportunity. I'm
a private inquiry agent by profession, though this job of shadowing you
has nothing to do with the office that employs me. I have a young friend
in my house who's turned up sudden and mysterious, a young friend I lost
sight of many weeks ago. He says you'll come to him at once if I could
only get you alone and be certain that no one saw me speak to you. His
instructions were to follow you about until such an opportunity as this
arose, and all the time I was to be certain that no one else was
following you. I have ascertained that all right."
He put his head close to mine and I felt his hot breath upon my cheek.
"It's Mr. William Rolston, Sir Thomas," he said. "I'm not in his
confidence, though I have long admired his abilities and predicted a
great future for him. He's come to me in distress and I am doing what I
can to 'elp 'im--this being a day when they've no job for me at the
office."
"Good Lord! why didn't you speak to me this morning, if you've been
following me all day?"
He shook his head.
"Wouldn't have done. Mr. Rolston's instructions was different and he has
his reasons, though I'm not in his confidence. I've done it out of
admiration for his talents, and no doubt some day he'll be in a position
to pay me for my work."
"Pay you, you idiot!" I could have taken him by the throat and shaken
the fool. "Mr. Rolston knows very well that he can command any money he
chooses. He's a member of my staff."
We were now walking along together towards Westminster.
"That's as may be," said my seedy friend, "but 'e 'adn't a brass
farthing this morning, and come to that, Sir Thomas, if you'd got into
another blinking taxi, you'd have snookered _me_!"
"Where do you live?" I asked impatiently.
"Not far from where you 'ad your lunch, Sir Thomas. 15, Imperial
Mansions, Royal Road, Stepney."
"It's a magnificent address," I said, as I held out my stick for a cab.
"It's a block o' workmen's buildings, reely," he replied gloomily, "and
in the thick of the Chinese quarter, which makes it none too savory. But
an Englishman's house is his castle and he has the 'progative to call it
what he likes."
Back east we went again and in half an hour I was mounting interminable
stone steps to a door nearly at the top of "Imperial Mansions," which my
guide, who during our drive had introduced himself to me as Mr. Herbert
Sliddim, announced as his home. In a dingily furnished room, sitting on
a molting, plush sofa I saw the curious little man to whom I had so
taken months ago. He was shabby almost to beggary. His face was pale and
worn, which gave him an aspect of being much older than I had imagined
him. But his irrepressible ears stood out as of yore and his eyes were
not dimmed.
"Hallo," I said, "glad to see you, Mr. Rolston, though you've neglected
us at the office for a long time. Your arrears of salary have been
mounting up."
His hand was trembling as I gripped it.
"Oh, Sir Thomas," he said, "do you really mean that I am still on the
staff?"
"Of course you are, my dear boy."