"Pilate!" escaped my lips, in a sort of nervous chuckle. But
George shook his head at me.

"I don't like it," he muttered, with unusual gravity. "Did you
see his face?" Then as the man rose and hurried away from us down
the street, "I should like to follow him. I do believe--"

But here we became aware of a quick rush and sudden clamour around
the corner we had just left, and turning quickly, saw that something
had occurred on Broadway which was fast causing a tumult.

"What's the matter?" I cried. "What can have happened? Let's go
see, George. Perhaps it has something to do with our man."

My husband, with a final glance down the street at the fast
disappearing figure, yielded to my importunity, and possibly to
some new curiosity of his own.

"I'd like to stop that man first," said he. "But what excuse have
I? He may be nothing but a crank, with some crack-brained idea in
his head. We'll soon know; for there's certainly something wrong
there on Broadway."

"He came out of the Clermont," I suggested.

"I know. If the excitement isn't there, what we've just seen is
simply a coincidence." Then, as we retraced our steps to the corner
"Whatever we hear or see, don't say anything about this man. It's
after eight, remember, and we promised Adela that we would be at the
house before nine."