The cab rolled off, and Hewitt and I strolled back along Gold Street. "I think," Hewitt said, "we will drop in on Mr. Hollams for a few minutes while we can. In a few hours I expect the police will have him, and his house, too, if they attend promptly to my note." "Have you ever seen him?" "Not to my knowledge, though I may know him by some other name. Wilks I know by sight, though he doesn't know me." "What shall we say?" "That will depend on circumstances. I may not get my cue till the door opens, or even till later. At worst, I can easily apply for a reference as to Leamy, who, you remember, is looking for work." But we were destined not to make Mr. Hollams' acquaintance, after all. As we approached the house a great uproar was heard from the lower part giving on to the area, and suddenly a man, hatless, and with a sleeve of his coat nearly torn away burst through the door and up the area steps, pursued by two others. I had barely time to observe that one of the pursuers carried a revolver, and that both hesitated and retired on seeing that several people were about the street, when Hewitt, gripping my arm and exclaiming: "That's our man!" started at a run after the fugitive. We turned the next corner and saw the man thirty yards before us, walking, and pulling up his sleeve at the shoulder, so as to conceal the rent. Plainly he felt safe from further molestation. "That's Sim Wilks," Hewitt explained, as we followed, "the 'juce of a foine jintleman' who got Leamy to carry his bag, and the man who knows where the Quinton ruby is, unless I am more than usually mistaken. Don't stare after him, in case he looks round. Presently, when we get into the busier streets, I shall have a little chat with him." But for some time the man kept to the back streets. In time, however, he emerged into the Buckingham Palace Road, and we saw him stop and look at a hat-shop. But after a general look over the window and a glance in at the door he went on. "Good sign!" observed Hewitt; "got no money with him--makes it easier for us." In a little while Wilks approached a small crowd gathered about a woman fiddler. Hewitt touched my arm, and a few quick steps took us past our man and to the opposite side of the crowd. When Wilks emerged, he met us coming in the opposite direction. "What, Sim!" burst out Hewitt with apparent delight. "I haven't piped your mug[A] for a stretch;[B] I thought you'd fell.[C] Where's your cady?"[D] [Footnote A: Seen your face.] [Footnote B: A year.] [Footnote C: Been imprisoned.] [Footnote D: Hat.] Wilks looked astonished and suspicious. "I don't know you," he said. "You've made a mistake." Hewitt laughed. "I'm glad you don't know me," he said. "If you don't, I'm pretty sure the reelers[A] won't. I think I've faked my mug pretty well, and my clobber,[B] too. Look here: I'll stand you a new cady. Strange blokes don't do that, eh?" [Footnote A: Police.] [Footnote B: Clothes.]