rage which had burned up in me at Big Ben Locke suddenly focused itself on that wizened old gumshoe who had the impertinence to follow me for two hours about the city.
It wasn't until I stopped short for the second time, and he came ambling up, preening himself as he came, that it occurred to me my annoyer might be nothing more than a senile old lady-killer dreaming he was running down a wanderer from the squab-dumps. And the mere thought of this made me madder than ever.
He was almost up to me by this time, walking mincingly. I was so hot that I could hear my blood boil in my ears. But I walked on again, waiting until he was almost by my side.
Then I swung about on him. I must have looked like a wild-cat with bells on. I'd had too much of men for that one day.
"How dare you try to follow me, you old hound?"
He stopped up short, with a sort of startled wince.
"Oh, I say!" he squeaked, in a thin little voice, blinking at me reprovingly from under his rusty hat-rim.
"How dare you follow me?" I repeated. There must have been a look of desperation in my eyes,
