In his hurry he had not noticed that the quiet little man had left the winter garden with him. His one thought was to get away. He determined to send that telegram to Basingstoke at once, and go to bed before any one else recognised him: one of Slippery Dick's friends was enough.
But unkind fate had not yet done with him, and a new and more terrible surprise was in store for the unfortunate bridegroom. He had scarcely gone a dozen yards from the hotel entrance, when a voice said just beside him:
"Excuse me, Mr. Richard Allingford, but may I have a few words with you?"
Scarsdale turned, and finding himself face to face with the quiet little man, who had seemed so interested in his conversation of a few moments ago, said:
"I seem to be in great demand to-night. Why do you wish to see me? I don't know you."
"No," said the man who stood beside him. "No, you do not know me, Mr. Richard Allingford; but you will."
He was a quiet, unpretending little man; but there was something about his dress and bearing, and the snap with which he shut his jaw at the end of a sentence, an air of decision, in short, which caused the Englishman to feel that he would do well to conciliate this stranger, whoever he might be, so he said shortly:
"What do you want with me? Speak quickly; I'm in a hurry."
"I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation just now at the hotel, and so I took the liberty of following you to ask you a question."
"Yes?" said Scarsdale interrogatively.