Quickly we made ready for the desperate assignation, pulling our hats well down, in a way that we thought Billy would approve.
Four blocks along the street, by rapid walking, we came within hail of the intrepid young detective. We were also opposite the marble yard of Cornelius Lawson, who wrought monuments for the dead of Little Arcady. In front of the shop were a dozen finished and half-finished stones, ghostly white in the dusk. It seemed indeed to be a spot impressive enough to meet even Billy's captious requirements, but we had underrated the demands of his artist's conscience. Solon called to him.
"Won't this do, Billy?"
Billy stopped dramatically, turned back upon us, and then exploded:—
"Fools! Would you ruin all? You must not be seen addressing me. Now I must disguise myself."
Turning stealthily from us, he swiftly adjusted a beard that swept its sable flow down his youthful chest. Then he addressed us again, still in tense, hoarse accents.
"Are you armed?"
"To the teeth!" answered Solon, with deadly grimness, and with a presence of mind which I envied.
"Then follow me, but at a distance!"
Meekly we obeyed. While our hero stalked ahead, stroking his luxuriant whiskers ever and anon, we pursued him at an interval so great that not the most alert citizen of Little Arcady could have suspected this sinister undercurrent to his simple life.