Nobody seemed to see me go out.
But when I got out into the Strand, with its summer evening crowds of people, I happened to glance across the street, and beheld some one that I had just seen in my room—namely, the quiet-faced man from Scotland Yard. How awful! I was being shadowed! It was a horrible feeling. So horrible that I am sure it could not have been any worse if I had really taken the Rattenheimer ruby, and had it fastened securely inside my black coat at the moment!
I felt as if I had. I wondered if the man would come across and dog my footsteps!
I turned down one of the little quiet streets on the right that lead to the river, and then I did hear footsteps behind me. They were following—positively following—me!
"Good evening!" said a quite friendly but un-English voice. It was not the Scotland Yard detective, then, after all. I turned. It was the young American.
CHAPTER XXII
HER COUSIN TO THE RESCUE
"Good evening," I said, coldly looking up at the young man, with a glance that said as plainly as possible, "What do you want?"