It was Mr. Podgers, the cheiromantist! No one could mistake the
fat, flabby face, the gold-rimmed spectacles, the sickly feeble
smile, the sensual mouth.

Lord Arthur stopped. A brilliant idea flashed across him, and he
stole softly up behind. In a moment he had seized Mr. Podgers by
the legs, and flung him into the Thames. There was a coarse oath, a
heavy splash, and all was still. Lord Arthur looked anxiously over,
but could see nothing of the cheiromantist but a tall hat,
pirouetting in an eddy of moonlit water. After a time it also sank,
and no trace of Mr. Podgers was visible. Once he thought that he
caught sight of the bulky misshapen figure striking out for the
staircase by the bridge, and a horrible feeling of failure came over
him, but it turned out to be merely a reflection, and when the moon
shone out from behind a cloud it passed away. At last he seemed to
have realised the decree of destiny. He heaved a deep sigh of
relief, and Sybil's name came to his lips.

'Have you dropped anything, sir?' said a voice behind him suddenly.

He turned round, and saw a policeman with a bull's-eye lantern.

'Nothing of importance, sergeant,' he answered, smiling, and hailing
a passing hansom, he jumped in, and told the man to drive to
Belgrave Square.

For the next few days he alternated between hope and fear. There
were moments when he almost expected Mr. Podgers to walk into the
room, and yet at other times he felt that Fate could not be so