“Say, you'll excuse my being a little careful,” he remarked. “This is rather a lonely part for the middle of London, and I have been followed for the last two days by people whose company I am not over keen about.”
“Followed? What for?” Tavernake demanded.
“Oh, the usual thing!” answered the detective, with a shrug of the shoulders. “That company of crooks I showed you last night don't fancy having me around. They've a good many grudges up against Sam Pritchard. I am not quite so safe over here as I should be in New York. Most of them are off to Paris tomorrow, thank Heavens!”
“And you?” Tavernake asked. “Are you going, too?”
Pritchard shook his head.
“If only those fools would believe it, I'm not over here on their business at all. I came over on a special commission this time, as you know. I have a word of warning for you, Mr. Tavernake. I guess you won't like to hear it, but you've got to.”
Tavernake stopped short.
“I don't want your warnings!” he said angrily. “I don't want you interfering in my affairs!”
The detective smiled quietly. Then a new expression suddenly tightened his lips.
“Never mind about that just now!” he exclaimed. “See here, take this police whistle from my left hand, quick, and blow it for all that you are worth!”