he himself was also under observation. Richard Vance, from Birmingham,
was equally taking careful note of Felix Henriot, from London.

Thus, he could wait his time. They would come together later. An
opportunity would certainly present itself. The first links in a curious
chain had already caught; soon the chain would tighten, pull as though
by chance, and bring their lives into one and the same circle. Wondering
in particular for what kind of a companion the second cover was laid,
Henriot felt certain that their eventual coming together was inevitable.
He possessed this kind of divination from first impressions, and not
uncommonly it proved correct.

Following instinct, therefore, he took no steps towards acquaintance,
and for several days, owing to the fact that he dined frequently with
his hosts, he saw nothing more of Richard Vance, the business man from
Birmingham. Then, one night, coming home late from his friend's house,
he had passed along the great corridor, and was actually a step or so
into his bedroom, when a drawling voice sounded close behind him. It was
an unpleasant sound. It was very near him too--

"I beg your pardon, but have you, by any chance, such a thing as a
compass you could lend me?"

The voice was so close that he started. Vance stood within touching
distance of his body. He had stolen up like a ghostly Arab, must have
followed him, too, some little distance, for further down the passage
the light of an open door--he had passed it on his way--showed where he
came from.

"Eh? I beg your pardon? A--compass, did you say?" He felt disconcerted