At first, Philip was afraid that the man had seen him, and was coming straight for him; he dived down, and lay flat, scarcely daring to breathe. But the stranger, who evidently knew the place well, came on steadily, until he stood within a few yards of the spot where Philip crouched; then he stopped, and looked straight across at the distant chimneys of Chater Hall. As he stood there, Philip found himself watching the man with an eagerness greater than he would have felt at the appearance of any chance stranger; for he knew the face of this man. Once again, he seemed to stand at the entrance to a little court, leading down to the river, at Woolwich; once again, to see a man dash past him, and to catch a glimpse of a face—gone in an instant, and seemingly forgotten—but well enough remembered now. Again, too, he seemed to stand on the terrace at Chater Hall, on that night of the burglary, striving to peer in through a window; to see the curtain suddenly flung back, and the room bright with lights, and that same face staring out at him. Small wonder that his heart beat heavily, as he lay crouched among the bushes, looking up at the man above him. The stranger, for his part, seemed to hesitate what to do; made a step forward more than once, as if to go boldly across the road, and up the path to the house before him; and as often stopped, and turned about, and waited where he was. Philip Chater was beginning to wonder what was to happen, and was half resolved—in the wild hurry of the thoughts which came crowding upon him—to spring out, and confront the man, when another figure seemed to spring almost from the grass near at hand, and to make rapidly towards the first comer. Philip, raising his head quickly, no sooner caught sight of this second man, than he dropped down flat again, at the bottom of the ditch. It was Inspector Tokely; and that gentleman came forward with a threatening aspect, and stopped within about a yard of the other, who was much taller than himself. “Mr. Ogledon, I believe,” said the Inspector, grimly; and Philip almost jumped out of his place again, at the mention of that name. “Well—what of it?” was the surly reply; and it almost seemed to the listening man as though the speaker looked Tokely up and down superciliously as he spoke. “What of it, sir!” cried the other, fiercely. “This of it, Mr. Ogledon—that you have insulted and maltreated the Law, as personified in me—in _me_, sir! That I have been lured into your presence, and, while in the execution of my duty, have been struck on a tender spot—to wit, the head—by a debauched companion of yours, and with a hard and heavy substance—to wit, a decanter; such assault being committed in order to delay, frustrate, postpone, or prevent the arrest of a certain person against whom I held a warrant. Damme, sir—what have you to say to that?” exclaimed the little man, suddenly losing his legal technicalities in an outburst of fury.