"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "Why are you trembling?"

"Don't look round. It's that fellow behind us; I know he is
following."

"Somebody you know?"

"Yes, and hate. Worse than that, I'm afraid of him. Will you keep
with me till he's gone?"

"Of course I will. What harm can he do you though?"

"None that I know of. It's a strange stupid feeling I have. I can't
bear the sight of him. Don't look round!"

"Has he been a--a friend of yours?"

"No, no; not in that way. But he follows me about. He'll drive me
out of London, I know."

They had reached Piccadilly Circus.

"Look back now," she said, "and see if he's following still."

Waymark turned his head; the man was at a little distance behind. He
stopped when be saw himself observed, and stood on the edge of the
pavement, tapping his boot with his cane. He was a tall and rather
burly fellow, well dressed, with a clean-shaven face.