The man drew in the morning air between his teeth, as if he desired to inflate his lungs to the full. 'That was a squeak. It wasn't him I nosed. Who'd have thought that he was there. If he'd come round the corner a minute or two ago there'd have probably been fun. Lucky I emptied the bag before I came on him. Hollo! He's going into Victoria Street. If he uses his eyes he'll spot my bloke in half a minute from now. I'd better put the steam on.' He quickened his pace, not breaking into a run, for he was aware that nothing arouses attention more than the sight of a man running at that hour in a London street. But for the next ten minutes he moved at a good five miles an hour, going fair toe-and-heel. Then he slackened, judging that for the present he was safe; and, moreover, he was blown. By what at least seemed devious ways he steered for Chelsea, to find himself, at last, in the King's Road. Thence he made for the river side, pausing before a house which faced the Thames. The house was an old one. In front was a piece of ground which was half yard, half garden. The approach to this was guarded by an iron railing and a gate. The gate was locked. By it was a rusty bell handle. At this he tugged. Almost immediately a window on the first floor was opened about three inches. A voice was heard. 'Who's there?' 'It's me, the Flyman.' 'You've been a devil of a time.' 'Couldn't be no quicker.' The window was shut again. Presently the front door was opened instead. A man came out. It was Horace Burton. He sauntered to the gate. 'Have you got it?' 'You let me in and then I'll tell you.' 'Don't be an idiot! Tell me, have you got it?' 'I sha'n't tell you nothing till I'm inside.' 'You're an ass! Do you think I want to keep you out?' He fumbled with the lock. 'Confound this key; it's rusty.' 'Your hand ain't steady; that's what's wrong with it.' 'Hang the thing!' The key dropped with a clatter to the ground. 'You let me have a try at it; perhaps my hand ain't so shaky as yours.' The man outside picked up the fallen key, thrusting his hand through the railings to enable him to do so. Soon the gate was open. When he had entered he locked it again behind him. The two men went into the house. When they were in the hall Mr Burton repeated his assertion. 'You've been a devil of a time. Do you think I want to stop up all night waiting for you?' 'That's all right. I'll tell you all about it when we get upstairs. Who's there?' 'Old Cox is there, that's who's there; and he looks to me as if he were going to stop there the rest of his life--hanged if he doesn't.' Possibly Mr Burton had been quenching his thirst too frequently with the idea of speeding the heavy hours of his vigil. The result was obvious in his speech and his appearance. At the foot of the staircase he stumbled against the bottom stair. The newcomer proffered his assistance. 'Steady, governor. Let me lend you a hand.' Mr Burton was at once upon his dignity.