Detective and mystery stories; Hoodlums -- Fiction; London (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Murder -- Fiction
Gianapolis shuddered. These were morbid reflections, for, since he had
no thought of betraying Mr. King, he had no occasion to apprehend a fate
similar to that of the unfortunate money-lender of Rangoon. It was a
very profitable service, that of Mr. King, yet there were times when the
fear of his employer struck a chill to his heart; there were times when
almost he wished to be done with it all...
By Whitechapel Station he discharged the cab, and, standing on the
pavement, lighted a new cigarette from the glowing stump of the old
one. A fair amount of traffic passed along the Whitechapel Road, for the
night was yet young; therefore Gianapolis attached no importance to the
fact that almost at the moment when his own cab turned and was
driven away, a second cab swung around the corner of Mount Street and
disappeared.
But, could he have seen the big limousine drawn up to the pavement some
fifty yards west of London Hospital, his reflections must have been
terrible, indeed.
Fate willed that he should know nothing of this matter, and, his
thoughts automatically reverting again to Helen Cumberly, he enjoyed
that imaginary companionship throughout the remainder of his walk, which
led him along Cambridge Road, and from thence, by a devious route, to
the northern end of Globe Road.
It may be enlightening to leave Gianapolis for a moment and to return to
Mount Street.
Helen Cumberly's cabman, seeing the cab ahead pull up outside the
railway station, turned around the nearest corner on the right (as has
already appeared), and there stopped. Helen, who also had observed
the maneuver of the taxi ahead, hastily descended, and giving the man
half-a-sovereign, said rapidly:
“I must follow on foot now, I am afraid! but as I don't know this
district at all, could you bring the cab along without attracting
attention, and manage to keep me in sight?”
“I'll try, miss,” replied the man, with alacrity; “but it won't be an
easy job.”
“Do your best,” cried Helen, and ran off rapidly around the corner, and
into Whitechapel Road.
She was just in time to see Gianapolis throw away the stump of his first
cigarette and stroll off, smoking a second. She rejoiced that she was
inconspicuously dressed, but, simple as was her attire, it did not fail
to attract coarse comment from some whom she jostled on her way. She
ignored all this, however, and, at a discreet distance followed the
Greek, never losing sight of him for more than a moment.
When, leaving Cambridge Road--a considerable thoroughfare--he plunged
into a turning, crooked and uninviting, which ran roughly at right
angles with the former, she hesitated, but only for an instant. Not
another pedestrian was visible in the street, which was very narrow and
ill-lighted, but she plainly saw Gianapolis passing under a street-lamp
some thirty yards along. Glancing back in quest of the cabman, but
failing to perceive him, she resumed the pursuit.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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