suspected. He was being followed.

The footsteps ceased as he himself had halted. It was a wet night, and
the street was ill-lit. Nevertheless, Mannering could distinguish the
figure of a man standing in the shadows of the houses, apparently to
escape observation. For a moment he hesitated. His follower could
scarcely be an ordinary hooligan, for not more than fifty yards away were
the lights of a great thoroughfare, and even in this street, quiet though
it was, there were people passing to and fro. His curiosity prompted him
to subterfuge. He took a cigarette from his case, and commenced in a
leisurely manner the operation of striking a light. Instantly the figure
of the man began to move cautiously towards him.

Mannering's eyes and hearing, keenly developed by his country life,
apprised him of every step the man took. He heard him pause whilst a
couple of women passed on the other side of the way. Afterwards his
approach became swifter and more stealthy. Barely in time to avoid, he
scarcely knew what, Mannering turned sharply round.

"What do you want with me?" he demanded.

The man showed no signs of confusion. Mannering, as he looked sternly
into his face, lost all fear of personal assault. He was neatly but
shabbily dressed, pale, and with a slight red moustache. He had a
somewhat broad forehead, eyes with more than an ordinary lustre, and, in
somewhat striking contradiction to the rest of his features, a large
sensitive mouth with a distinctly humorous curve. Even now its corners
were receding into a smile, which had in it, however, other elements than
mirth alone.