‘Shilling if he’s here in ten minutes,’ said the other.
Paul ran. The fatigue which had weighed upon his limbs seemed gone. Once free of the clogging and slippery mire which had been wrought out of the wet turf by many travelling feet, he raced along the firm high-road at his best speed. He made a leap into the entrance-hall of the house which had been indicated to him, and narrowly escaped collision with a man who was moving smartly towards the street.
‘Hillo!’ said the man, slipping nimbly on one side, and staring at him as he suddenly arrested himself.
‘Hillo!’ said Paul. He was face to face with the jaundiced man of Saturday. ‘Are you Herr Pauer?
He was guided to the question by the man’s attire. He was in some sort of circus uniform, and in act to button a huge shaggy overcoat above it.
‘That’s my name,’ said the other. ‘What brings you here?’
‘You’re wanted at the circus,’ Paul answered, flushing and turning pale again.
‘All right,’ said Herr Pauer, ‘I’m going there. But what is up with you, my young friend?’
‘Nothing much,’ Paul answered.
‘No?’ said Herr Pauer, buttoning himself from throat to toes, and looking at him with a glittering eye. ‘I should have thought quite differently. Come along with me.’