At the corner of
Sloane Street he halted under a lamp, pulled out his watch, consulted
it, and lit a cigarette; then set off again up the street towards
Knightsbridge.
This halt of his had let me up within twenty paces of him. He never
turned his head; but went on presenting me his back, a target not to be
missed. Why not do it now? Better now and here than in a crowded
thoroughfare. My right hand gripped the revolver more tightly.
No, there was plenty of time: and I was curious to know what had brought
Gervase out at this hour: why he had left his guests, or his wife's
guests, to take care of themselves: why he chose to be trudging afoot
through this infernally unpleasant snow.
The roadway in Sloane Street was churned into a brown mass like
chocolate, but the last 'bus had rolled home and left it to freeze in
peace. Half-way up the street I saw Gervase meet and pass a policeman,
and altered my own pace to a lagging walk. Even so, the fellow eyed me
suspiciously as I went by--or so I thought: and guessing that he kept a
watch on me, I dropped still further behind my man. But the lamps were
bright at the end of the street, and I saw him turn to the right by the
great drapery shop at the corner.
Once past this corner I was able to put on a spurt. He crossed the
roadway by the Albert Gate, and by the time he reached the Park railings
the old distance separated us once more.
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