p of a tall Oriental! He was evidently
trying to stifle her screams and at the same time to pinion her
arms behind her!

I perceived that there was more in this scene than met the eye.
Oriental footpads are rarities in the purlieus of Waterloo Road.
So much was evident; and since I carried a short, sharp argument in
my pocket, I hastened to advance it.

At the sight of the gleaming revolver barrel the man, who was
dressed in dark clothes and wore a turban, turned and ran swiftly
off. I had scarce a glimpse of his pallid brown face ere he was
gone, nor did the thought of pursuit enter my mind. I turned to
the old woman, who was dressed in shabby black and who was
rearranging her thick veil in an oddly composed manner, considering
the nature of the adventure that had befallen her.

She picked up her basket, and turned away. Needless to say I was
rather shocked at her callous ingratitude, for she offered no word of
thanks, did not even glance in my direction, but made off hurriedly
toward Waterloo Road.

I had been on the point of inquiring if she had sustained any injury,
but I checked the words and stood looking after her in blank
wonderment. Then my ideas were diverted into a new channel. I
perceived, as she passed under an adjacent lamp, that her basket
contained provisions such as a woman of her appearance would scarcely
be expected to purchase. I noted a bottle of wine, a chicken, and a
large melon.

The nationality of the assailant from the first had marked the affair
for no ordinary one, and now a hazy notion of what lay behind all
this began to come to me.

Keeping well in the shadows on the opposite side of the way, I
followed the woman with the basket. The lane was quite deserted;
for, the disturbance over, those few residents who had raised their
windows had promptly lowered them again. She came out into
Waterloo Road, crossed over, and stood waiting by a stopping-place
for electric cars. I saw her arranging a cloth over her basket in
such a way as effectually to conceal the contents. A strong mental
excitement possessed me. The detective fever claims us all at one
time or another, I think, and I had good reason for pursuing any
inquiry that promised to lead to the elucidation of the slipper
mystery. A theory, covering all the facts of the assault incident,
now presented itself, and I stood back in the shadow, watchful; in
a degree, exultant.

A Greenwich-bound car was hailed by the woma