At the hour mentioned Burke appeared. I retreated into a sheltering doorway, and watched him.
He stood for a moment upon the top step, darting quick glances up and down the street, and intently scanning the few pedestrians who were abroad at the time. Then he came rapidly down the steps, and turned toward the city.
The snow muffled my tread, and he did n't hear my approach—did n't know of my presence until I tapped him upon the shoulder.
"Mr. Burke," said I, "I want you."
With a quick intake of breath, which sounded like the hiss of a snake, he slewed round and fixed me with his expressionless eyes. Also—to complete the simile—his head reared back, like a snake's when it is about to strike. I don't believe that I ever before found such a keen pleasure in arresting a man.
"Want me!" he gasped. "What for?"
"Yes, you." I could not entirely hide my satisfaction. "And because you have reached the end of your rope. I don't intend to stand here and argue about it, either."
In a moment the man was calm—all except his gloved hands. A man's hands will, nine times out of ten, betray him in spite of himself. Burke's fingers were twitching, and folding and unfolding without cessation.
"Swift," he whispered vindictively, "you 'll regret this—so help me God, you will. Curse you! Why do you persecute me? I 'll go with you—of course I shall; how can I help myself when I 'm at the mercy of a brute of a giant, like you?"
"Then shut up, and come along. I 'll just keep a hand under your arm until we get to headquarters.… Never mind!" as he made a move to unbutton his overcoat. "It's cold enough to keep covered." I had struck down the stealthy hand with considerable vigor, and he winced with pain. The pale eyes flashed a malignant look at me, and straightway became inscrutable again.