ed behind him, now quickening,
then becoming more deliberate, in unison with his own steps, as from
time to time he purposely altered his pace. Once he had stopped;
whereupon they too had paused. A moment he stood looking up at St.
Paul's, immense, ominous, casting at that late hour a dim patch of
shadow over scores of pigmy buildings and paltry byways; when he went
on, patter!--patter!--the trailing of feet, inevitable as fate, followed
through the darkness. But they came no nearer until, abruptly wheeling,
he entered the short street where his chambers were located; at the same
time two men, apparently sauntering from the river in that side
thoroughfare, approached him somewhat rapidly, separating slightly as
they did so.

John Steele seemed oblivious. He moved into a doorway and drawing from
his pocket a cigar, unconcernedly lighted a match. The fellows looked at
him, at the tiny flame; it flickered and went out. They hesitated; he
felt in his pocket, giving them time to move by. They did not do so; in
a moment the others from the main highway would join them. As if
disappointed in not finding what he sought, Steele, looking around,
appeared to see for the first time the evil-looking miscreants who had
came from the direction of the Thames, and striding toward them asked
bruskly for a light. One of the fellows thus unceremoniously addressed
had actually begun to feel in his shabby garments for the article
required when his companion uttered a short derisory oath.

It served as a sudden stimulus to him against whom it was directed; the
old precept that he who strikes first strikes best, John Steele seemed
fully to appreciate. His heavy stick flashed in the air, rang hard; the
way before him cleared, he did not linger. But close behind now the
others came fast; his door, however, was near. Now he reached it, fitted
the heavy key. Had it turned as usual, the episode would have been
brought to a speedy conclusion, but, as it was, the key stuck. The
foremost of those who had been trailing fell upon Steele but soon drew
back; one of them, unable to repress a groan, held his hand to a broken
wrist, while from his helpless fingers a knife dropped to the ground.

A hoarse voice in thieves' jargon, unintelligible to the layman, cursed
them for cowards; John Steele on a sudden laughed loudly, exultantly;
whereupon he who had thus spoken from the background stared. A
ponderous, hulking fellow, about six feet three, with a shoc