vening, on my way home from Paddington, I came across the
woman in the Harrow Road. There was no mistaking her. She almost
touched me as she came out of a fishmonger's shop, and unconsciously,
at the beginning, I found myself following her. This time I noticed
the turnings, and five minutes' walking brought us to the street. Half
a dozen times I must have been within a hundred yards of it. I
lingered at the corner. She had not noticed me, and just as she
reached the house a man came out of the shadows beyond the lamp-post
and joined her.

I was due at a bachelor gathering that evening, and after dinner, the
affair being fresh in my mind, I talked about it. I am not sure, but I
think it was in connection with a discussion on Maeterlinck. It was
that sudden lifting of the blind that had caught hold of me. As if,
blundering into an empty theatre, I had caught a glimpse of some drama
being played in secret. We passed to other topics, and when I was
leaving a fellow guest asked me which way I was going. I told him,
and, it being a fine night, he proposed that we should walk together.
And in the quiet of Harley Street he confessed that his desire had not
been entirely the pleasure of my company.

"It is rather curious," he said, "but today there suddenly came to my
remembrance a case that for nearly eleven years I have never given a
thought to. And now, on top of it, comes your description of that
woman's face. I am wondering if it can be the same."

"It was the eyes," I said, "that struck me as so remarkable."

"It was the eyes that I chiefly remember her by," he replied. "Would
you know the street again?"

We walked a little while in silence.

"It may seem, perhaps, odd to you," I answered, "but it would trouble
me, the idea of any harm coming to her through me. What was the case?"

"You can feel quite safe on that point," he assured me. "I was her
counsel--that is, if it is the same woman. How was she dressed?"

I could not see the reason for his question. He could hardly expect
her to be wearing the clothes of eleven years ago.

"I don't think I noticed," I answered. "Some sort of a blouse, I
suppose." And then I recollected. "Ah, yes, there was something
uncommon," I added. "An unusually broad band of velvet, it looked
like, round her neck."

"I thought so," he said. "Yes. It must be the same."

We had reached Marylebone Road, where our ways parted.

"I will look you up to-morrow afte