"Can it possibly be _you_?" I cried. "What brings you here? Why have you come again?" "Reached London this morning. Came here when dusk set in, thinking I might have the luck to see you or Lake, Charley." "But why have you left Scotland? You were safer there." "Don't know that I was. And I had grown tired to death of it." "It will end in death, or something like it, if you persist in staying here." Tom laughed his gay, ringing laugh. I looked round to see that no one was about, or within hearing. "What a croaker you are, old Charley! I'm sure you ought to kill the fatted calf, to celebrate my return from banishment." "But, Tom, you _know_ how dangerous it is, and must be, for you to be here in London." "And it was becoming dangerous up there," he quickly rejoined. "Since the summer season set in, those blessed tourists are abroad again, with their staves and knapsacks. No place is safe from them, and the smaller and more obscure it is, the more they are sure to find it. The other day I was in my boat in my fishing toggery, as usual, when a fellow comes up, addresses me as 'My good man,' and plunges into queries touching the sea and the fishing-trade. Now who do you think that was, Charles?" "I can't say." "It was James Lawless, Q.C.--the leader who prosecuted at my trial." "Good heavens!" "I unfastened the boat, keeping my back to him and my face down, and shot off like a whirlwind, calling out that I was behind time, and must put out. I took good care, Charles, not to get back before the stars were bright in the night sky." "Did he recognise you?" "No--no. For certain, no. But he would have done so had I stayed to talk. And it is not always that I could escape as I did then. You must see that." I saw it all too plainly. "So I thought it best to make myself scarce, Charles, and leave the tourists' haunts. I sold my boat; no difficulty in that; though, of course, the two men who bought it shaved me; and came over to London as fast as a third-class train would bring me. Dare not put my nose into a first-class carriage, lest I should drop upon some one of my old chums." "Of all places, Tom, you should not have chosen London." "Will you tell me, old fellow, what other place I could have pitched upon?" And I could not tell. "Go where I will," he continued, "it seems that the Philistines are likely to find me out." We were pacing about now, side by side, keeping in the shade as much as possible, and speaking under our breath. "You will have to leave the country, Tom; you must do it. And go somewhere over the seas." "To Van Diemen's Land, perhaps," suggested Tom. "Now, be quiet. The subject is too serious for jesting. I should think--perhaps--America. But I must have time to consider. Where do you mean to stay at present? Where are you going to-night?" "I've been dodging about all day, not showing up much; but I'm going now to where I lodged last, down Blackfriars way. You remember?"