Thus I didn't attempt to look behind me, but went on my way whistling merrily, making the pavements re-echo with my noisy steps, for by that time the streets were practically empty. All the same, I couldn't rid myself of my suspicion that I was being shadowed, and, finally, feeling that the chase was getting intolerable, I decided on a rather curious ruse. I had reached Westminster Bridge, and, walk to near the centre, suddenly stopped and turned my face towards the swirling waters that were eddying past the buttresses beneath. Next instant I staggered back in the fickle light of the lamp, and, throwing my coat off my shoulders, cried in a muffled, stifled kind of voice: "Ah! I can bear it no longer. I must do it. Good-bye, good-bye." And with a frantic bound I leaped on to the parapet by the aid of a lamp-post and threw my arms upward with a wild, convulsive movement, as though the next second must be my last, and that I had but to take one downward glance to hurl myself into the turgid torrent beneath. Just as I expected, my pursuer rushed pell-mell into the trap that I had baited for him. No sooner did he catch a glimpse of what he thought were my preparations for a sudden and effective suicide than he instantly abandoned all pretence of concealing his presence, darted out of the shadows in which he had been lurking, and raced as swiftly as a greyhound towards me and caught me by the sleeve and dragged me backward. "You fool," he cried, "what are you up to now?" And in a flash I recognised who it was--Detective-Inspector Naylor. With a quick spring I reached the pavement again and turned a face full of merriment towards the officer. "Ah," said I, picking up my coat, "so it was you who was stalking me, was it? I thought my little trick would fetch you much more rapidly and effectively than if I had turned round and tried to pick you up. Now, what's your game dogging my footsteps, eh? You don't think I'm a young monk who has got spoiled in the making, do you? No; you've some deeper, deadlier design than that, so you might as well own up at once." "I can't," he returned, and his face, now he realised how I had duped him, was a study in rage and mortification. "I--I am out on business just as much as you are. You play your hand, I'll play mine. Only take care what you are up to--that's all. When we at Scotland Yard take up a case we usually make some inquiries into the good faith and past history of our clients. It's a pity you don't do the same. Good-night." And with a nod full of meaning he strolled off towards the embankment, leaving me to digest his enigmatic remark in silence and alone.