“I’m not asking you for a thousand dollars yet,” said Linthicum. “I may have to ask you for five hundred before long—but I’m not doing it now.”
“Five hundred!” gasped Stamps, and he sat down in a heap and dropped his damp forehead on his hands.
That night, as Latimer entered the house of an acquaintance with whom he was going to spend the evening, he caught sight of the, by this time, familiar figure on the opposite side of the street.
The night was cold and damp, and rain was falling when the door closed behind him. He heard it descending steadily throughout the evening, and more than once the continuance of the downpour was commented upon by some member of the company. When the guests separated for the night and Latimer turned into the street again, he had scarcely walked five yards before hearing a cough; he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw the small man in blue jeans. The jeans were wet and water was dropping from the brim of the old felt hat. The idea which at once possessed his mind was that for some mysterious reason best known to himself the wearer had been waiting for and was following him. What was it for? He turned about suddenly and faced the person who seemed so unduly interested in his actions.
“Do you want to speak to me?” he demanded.
This movement, being abrupt, rather upset Mr. Stamps’s calculations. He came to a standstill, looking surprised and nervous.
“Thar ain’t no harm done,” he said. “I aimed to find out whar ye lived.”
“Have you been waiting for me to come out of the house?” asked Latimer, feeling some curiosity.
Stamps admitted that he had, the admission being somewhat reluctant, as if he felt it might commit him to something. Having so far betrayed himself, however, he drew something nearer, with a suggestion of stealthiness.
“Ye’re mighty like a man I once knowed,” he said. “Yer powerful like him. I never seed two men more liker each other.”