It was intensely annoying to be tracked in this manner. Was I, Frank
Burgoyne, to be watched like a suspected criminal or a ticket-of-leave
man, because I had--unfortunately, as it seemed--been the means of
bringing to light yet another foul piece of handiwork of the unknown
miscreant?
Why did they suspect me? What end had they in view in such a
proceeding?
Suppose my friends and the world should notice the suspicion resting
upon me? I grew hot at the very thought.
Perhaps, after all, he was only acting from curiosity, and not under the
orders of his superiors. The suggestion was a little consoling, and
endeavouring to re-assure myself by its aid, I walked briskly home.