heard the slow, heavy, regular tramp of a footstep advancing along the
street. It was the policeman of the district going his round. As he
approached the entrance to the mews he paused, yawned, stretched his
arms, and began to whistle a tune. If Mannion should come out while he
was there! My blood seemed to stagnate on its course, while I thought
that this might well happen. Suddenly, the man ceased whistling, looked
steadily up and down the street, and tried the door of a house near
him--advanced a few steps--then paused again, and tried another
door--then muttered to himself, in drowsy tones--"I've seen all safe
here already: it's the other street I forgot just now." He turned, and
retraced his way. I fixed my aching eyes vigilantly on the hotel, while
I heard the sound of his footsteps grow fainter and fainter in the
distance. It ceased altogether; and still there was no change--still the
man whose life I was waiting for, never appeared.

Ten minutes after this, so far as I can guess, the door opened; and I
heard Mannion's voice, and the voice of the lad who had let me in. "Look
about you before you go out," said the waiter, speaking in the
passage; "the street's not safe for you." Disbelieving, or affecting to
disbelieve, what he heard, Mannion interrupted the waiter angrily; and
endeavoured to reassure his companion in guilt, by asserting that the
warning was nothing but an attempt to extort money by way of reward. The
man retorted sulkily, that he cared nothing for the gentleman's money,
or the gentleman either. Immediately afterwards an inner door in the
house banged violently; and I knew that Mannion had been left to his
fate.

There was a momentary silence; and then I heard him tell his accomplice
that he would go alone to look for the cab, and that she had better
close the door and wait quietly in the passage till he came back. This
was done. He walked out into the street. It was after twelve o'clock. No
sound of a strange footfall was audible--no soul was at hand to witness,
and prevent, the coming struggle. His life was mine. His death followed
him as fast as my feet followed, while I was now walking on his track.

He looked up and down, from the entrance to the street, for the cab.
Then, seeing that it was gone, he hastily turned back. At that instant I
met him face to face. Before a word could be spoken, even before a look
could be exchanged, my hands were on his throat.

He was a taller and heavier m