"Take the next cab and follow ME!" she cried, whilst her friend raised
her hand to her ear the better to detect the words. "I cannot wait for
you or the track will be lost"...
Helen's cab swung around the corner--and she was not by any means
certain that Denise Ryland had understood her; but to have delayed
would have been fatal, and she must rely upon her friend's powers of
penetration to form a third in this singular procession.
Whilst these thoughts were passing in the pursuer's mind, Gianapolis,
lighting a cigarette, had thrown himself back in a corner of the cab and
was mentally reviewing the events of the evening--that is, those events
which were associated with Helen Cumberly. He was disappointed but
hopeful: at any rate he had suffered no definite repulse. Without doubt,
his reflections had been less roseate had he known that he was followed,
not only by two, but by THREE trackers.
He had suspected for some time now, and the suspicion had made him
uneasy, that his movements were being watched. Police surveillance
he did not fear; his arrangements were too complete, he believed,
to occasion him any ground for anxiety even though half the Criminal
Investigation Department were engaged in dogging his every movement. He
understood police methods very thoroughly, and all his experience told
him that this elusive shadow which latterly had joined him unbidden,
and of whose presence he was specially conscious whenever his steps led
toward Palace Mansions, was no police officer.
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