"You are Mr. Lawrence Mannering?"

"That is my name," Mannering answered, "but if you want to speak to me
why don't you come up like a man, instead of dogging my footsteps? It
looked as though you wanted to take me by surprise. What is that you are
hiding up your sleeve?"

The man held it out, placed it even in Mannering's hand.

"A life preserver, steel, as you see, and with a beautiful spring. Deadly
weapon, isn't it, sir? Even a half-hearted sort of blow might kill a
man."

Mannering swung the weapon lightly in his hand. It cut the air with a
soft, sickly swish.

"What were you doing following me, on tiptoe, with this in your hand?" he
asked, sternly.

"Well," the man answered, as though forced to confess an unpleasant
truth, "I am very much afraid that I was going to hit you with it."

Mannering looked up and down the street for a policeman.

"Indeed!" he said. "And may I ask why you changed your mind?"

"It was an inspiration," the man answered, easily. "To tell you the
truth, the clumsiness of the whole thing grated very much upon me.
Personally, I ran no risk, don't think it was that. My escape was very
carefully provided for. But one thinks quickly in moments of excitement,