Laverick was a man of more than medium height, but by the side of
the policeman he seemed short. Both scanned the faces of the
passers-by closely - the police-man with mild interest, Laverick
with almost feverish anxiety. It was a gray afternoon, pleasant
but close. There seemed to be nothing whatever to account for the
feeling of nervousness which had suddenly come over Laverick. He
felt himself in danger - he had no idea how, or in what way - but
the conviction was there. He took every step fully alert,
absolutely on his guard.

They were almost within sight of Holborn when a cry from the
bystanders caused them to look away into the middle of the road.
Laverick only cast one glance there and abandoned every instinct
of curiosity, thinking once more only of himself and his own
position. With the constable, however, it was naturally different.
He saw something which called at once for his intervention, and
he immediately forgot the somewhat singular task upon which he
was engaged. A man had fallen in the middle of the street, either
knocked down by the shaft of a passing vehicle or in some sort of
fit. There was a tangle of rearing horses, an omnibus was making
desperate efforts to avoid the prostrate body. The constable
sprang to the rescue. Laverick, instantly suspicious and realizing
that there was no one in front of him, turned swiftly around. He
was just in time to receive upon his left arm the blow which had
been meant for the back of his head. He was confronted by a man
dressed exactly as he himself was, in morning coat and silk hat,
a man with long, lean face and legal appearance, such a person as
would have passed anywhere without attracting a moment's suspicion.
Yet, in the space of a few seconds he had whipped out from one