He staggered, dazed, against a 'bus-horse, but the next moment he was in pursuit of the stranger. It was but a continuation of his dream. He felt that something was about to happen. He had never seen this man disturbed before. Chancery Lane swarmed with lawyers, but if they had not made way Andrew would have walked over them. He clove his way between those walking abreast, and struck down an arm extended to point out the Law Courts. When he neared the stranger, he slightly slackened his pace, but it was a stampede even then. Suddenly the pursued came to a dead stop and gazed for twenty minutes in at a pastry-cook's window. Andrew waited for him. Then they started off again, much more leisurely. They turned Chancery Lane almost together. All this time Andrew had failed to catch sight of the other's face. He stopped twice in the Strand for a few minutes. At Charing Cross he seemed for a moment at a loss. Then he sprang across the street, and went back the way he came. It was now for the first time that a strange notion illumined Andrew's brain. It bewildered him, and left him in darkness the next moment. But his blood was running hot now, and his eyes were glassy. They turned down Arundel Street. It was getting dark. There were not a dozen people in the narrow thoroughfare. His former thought leapt back into Andrew's mind--not a fancy now, but a fact. The stranger was following someone too. For what purpose? His own? Andrew did not put the question to himself. There were not twenty yards between the three of them. What Riach saw in front was a short stout man proceeding cheerfully down the street. He delayed in a doorway to light a cigar, and the stranger stopped as if turned to stone. Andrew stopped too. They were like the wheels of a watch. The first wheel moved on, and set the others going again. For a hundred yards or more they walked in procession in a westerly direction without meeting a human being. At last the first of the trio half turned on his heel and leant over the Embankment. Riach drew back into the shade, just before the stranger took a lightning glance behind him. The young man saw his face now. It was never fuller of noble purpose; yet why did Andrew cry out? The next moment the stranger had darted forward, slipped his arms round the little man's legs, and toppled him into the river. There was a splash but no shriek. Andrew bounded forward, but the stranger held him by one hand. His clear blue eyes looked down a little wistfully upon the young Scotchman, who never felt the fascination of a master-mind more than at that moment. As if feeling his power, the elder man relaxed his hold and pointed to the spot where his victim had disappeared. "He was a good man," he said, more to himself than to Andrew, "and the world has lost a great philanthropist; but he is better as he is." Then he lifted a paving-stone, and peered long and earnestly into the waters.