THE ADVENTURE OF THE HUNTED POLE.
"Voyons! It must have been some twenty years ago, when the bombs were going off in Russia! There was a notion—mistaken, as it proved—that a revolution could be brought about by means of them. Fired with enthusiasm, and having an idea for a bomb of a new sort, I threw a few necessaries, including a manifesto, into my portmanteau, and started for the scene of action. But I never reached it. The machinations of the police frustrated me. Let me draw you the picture of the moment when I first learnt that the emissaries of the Third Section were on my track.
"It was at Warsaw. I had arrived there late in the afternoon, and had dined well at the best hotel, toasting the cause silently in the sparkling wine of the Widow Clicquot. After the meal I strolled out into the street to smoke my cigar, contemplatively, by moonlight.
"The hour was late. Few loiterers were abroad except myself. But presently, after I had taken several turns, I became aware of a quick, stealthy step, as of a man from nowhere, following behind me, and heard a clear but subdued voice speaking to me.
"'Whatever you do, don't look round. Walk straight on, and listen to what I say. Is your name Kosnapulski?'
"'That is part of my name,' I answered, without turning my head. 'The full name is Jean Antoine Stromboli——'
"'Right! You're the man I'm looking for,' the stranger interrupted. 'But I mustn't speak to you here. Turn up the next side street and keep in the shadow.'
"I hesitated. It might be the greeting of a comrade, or it might be the trick of a vulgar assassin. I resolved to take the risk, and turned sharply to the left, the stranger following me into the dark.
"'Don't stop,' he continued, 'and don't answer, but listen to what I say.'
"So we walked on as though we did not know each other, and he talked to me as a man speaking to himself.