"Wait!" Steele stepped slightly toward him. "I want you, Tom Rogers, and
I'm going to have you; it'll be quids in your pocket and not Newgate."

"Slope for it, mates!" The big man's voice rang out; around the corner
in the direction of the Thames the burly figure of a policeman appeared
in the dim light. "That's his little game!" and turned.

But John Steele sprang savagely forward. "You fool! You'll not get away
so easily!" he exclaimed, when one of the others put out a foot. It
caught the pursuing man fairly and tripped him. John Steele went down
hard; his head struck the stone curb violently.

For some moments he lay still; when at length he did move, to lift
himself on his elbow, as through a mist he made out the broad and
solicitous face of a policeman bending over him.

"That was a nasty fall you got, sir."

"Fall?" John Steele arose, stood swaying. "That man!--must not
escape--Do you hear? must not!" As he spoke he made as if to rush
forward; the other laid steadying fingers on his arm.

"Hold hard a bit, sir," he said. "Not quite yourself; besides, they're
well out of sight now. No use running after."

Steele moved, grasped the railing leading up the front step; his brow
throbbed; a thousand darting pains shot through his brain. But for the
moment these physical pangs were as nothing; disappointment,
self-reproach moved him. To have allowed himself to go down like that;
to have been caught by such a simple trick! Clumsy clod!--and at a