“I tell you, Emerson, that is the fellow. I could swear to him anywhere. What he is got up like that for I cannot tell you, but I should not be surprised if he is one of that Bow Street gang. He called himself Mark Thorndyke, and Chetwynd said that he was a gentleman of property; but that might have been part of the plant to catch us. I have never been able to understand how a raw countryman could have caught you palming that card. I believe that fellow is a Bow Street runner; if so, it is rum if we cannot manage to get even with him before we go. It seemed to me that luck had deserted us altogether; but this looks as if it was going to turn again. Let's go after him.” Keeping some fifty yards behind him, they watched Mark to his lodgings, waited until he came out again, and followed him to a public house. “He is acting as a detective, sure enough,” Emerson said. “The question is, what are we to do next?” In half an hour Mark came out again. Several people nodded to him as he passed them, but they saw a big man, who happened to be standing under a lamp, turn his back suddenly as Mark approached him, and, after he had passed, stand scowling after him, and muttering deep curses. Flash at once went up to him. “Do you know who that fellow is, my man?” The fellow turned savagely upon him. “I don't know who he is; but what is that to you?” “He is not a friend of ours,” Flash said quietly; “quite the contrary. We have known him when he was not got up like this, and we are rather curious to know what he is doing here.” “Do you mean that?” “I do; I owe the fellow a grudge.” “So do I,” the man growled. “Just step up this next turning; there won't be anyone about there. Now, then, what do yer want to know?” “I want to know who he is.” “Well, he calls himself a hawker; but my idea of him is he is one of the fancy, perhaps a west countryman, who is keeping dark here till he can get a match on. I have been a prize fighter myself, but he knocked me out in three rounds the other day.” “Well, the last time I saw him,” Flash said, “he was dressed as a swell. My idea of him is, he is a Bow Street runner, and he is got up like this to lay his hands on some of the fellows down here.” “You don't mean it!” the man said with a deep oath. “Then I can tell you he has come to the wrong shop. I have only got to whisper it about, and his life would not be worth an hour's purchase. I had meant to stick a knife in him on the first opportunity, but this will save me the trouble.” “Well, you can have your revenge and five guineas besides,” Flash said. “But we must be there at the time. I should like him to know that I was at the bottom of his being caught.”