“As I was walking back to Uckfield, a man overtook me, riding slowly on a push bike. About a mile further on I overtook him; he appeared to be repairing a tire. He glanced up at me casually as I passed by, and the moment afterwards called out to inquire if I had a match about me. I went back and gave him one, for which he thanked me with rather unnecessary profusion, I thought, and then he offered me a cigarette, and lit it for me. We exchanged a few words about the weather, and I went on. “At the railway station, two hours later, I saw him again. He was on the platform, waiting for the train, but had no bicycle with him then. I passed him twice, but he appeared not to recognize me, so I did not speak to him. When I alighted at Waterloo I happened to notice him behind me on the platform, still without his bicycle; and when I alighted from a taxi at Cox’s Hotel, in Jermyn Street, where I am staying, to my astonishment he was standing on the curb, about a hundred yards along the street--I could see only his profile, but there could be no mistaking him as he stood there staring up at a house on the opposite side of the street. Then, for the first time, the thought struck me that he must be shadowing me. I have not seen him since, but I should recognize him at once if I met him.” In another part of the letter Blenkiron told Johnson he had heard about Jessica’s success at the tables at Dieppe, but he said nothing about Yootha. He asked Johnson, however, if he had happened to come across Harry Hopford, who he had been told had gone to Jersey. If he should meet him, he ended, would he remember to ask him to write at once, as he wished to communicate with him on a matter of importance. Johnson refolded the letter, then opened the letter from Preston. Preston’s communication was brief. There was no reference to his engagement, nor to Yootha. He spoke of Jessica and her friends, however, and again mentioned their having broken the bank. “I am sick of this place,” he remarked towards the end of the letter. “The town is crawling with the most impossible people--I can’t think who they are or where they come from; holiday-makers, of course. The chief attraction is naturally the Casino, where these holiday folk swarm at night and seem to delight in showing how foolishly they can squander quite a lot of money. Our countrymen and women show up badly in a place like this, and give the French a poor opinion of the British race. I shall probably return to London in a day or two, but my movements will depend to some extent on circumstances.” “On circumstances,” Johnson said aloud, as he finished reading the letter. “Now, I wonder what those circumstances are? It is not like Preston to conceal his reasons. He is worried about something, I am sure. The tone of his letter shows it, and I can read between the lines.” He appeared to ponder for a minute.