waiting game.

When we emerged from the Park, my spirits rose and I fell to studying
what I could see of the lines of the limousine, and to speculating
whether I was being led to Claridge's or the Ritz. I had just pronounced
In favour of the latter, when there fell upon my ears the long regular
spasm of ringing which is a fire-engine's peremptory demand for instant
way. Mechanically the order was everywhere obeyed. The street was none
too wide, and a second and louder burst of resonance declared that the
fire-engine was hard upon our heels.

The twenty yards separating us from the limousine were my undoing. With
a helpless glance at me over his shoulder, my driver pulled in to the
kerb, and we had the felicity of watching the great blue car turn down a
convenient side street and flash out of sight.

The engine swept by at a high smooth speed, the traffic emerged from its
state of suspended animation, and in some annoyance I put my head out of
the window and directed my driver to drive to Bond Street.

I had chosen a new hat and was on the point of leaving the shop, when a
chauffeur entered with a soft grey hat in his hand. The hat resembled
the one I had Lost, and for a moment I hesitated. Then it occurred to me
that there were many such hats in London, and I passed on and out of the
door. Of course it was only a coincidence. Still....

Opposite me, drawn up by the kerb, was the large blue limousine.

The next moment I was back in the shop.