“One last word before I go, mate,” said Scrivener. “You had best keep dark to-day. The police have got wind of your identity and are after you.”
“How do you know?” asked Rowton.
“Long John had a warning last night. Spider is in town, and is prying round as usual. It is true, I tell you. You may thank your stars that you have not been arrested before this. It is all the doings of that footman of yours.”
“My footman! Do you mean Jacob Short?”
“I mean Jacob Short. He is a spy from Scotland Yard. Now you know enough, and I dare not breathe another word.”
Scrivener went away, but Rowton sat on by the fire in the back room of the public-house. His thoughts and sensations were known to himself alone. After a time he got up, paid for the use of the room, and by a circuitous route got back again to the hotel in the Strand. As he was going in he came face to face with Jacob standing near the door of the hotel.
“What are you doing here?” asked Rowton.
“I came up for a holiday, sir. I hope to return to my duties to-morrow night.”
“See you do. I don’t wish my servants to come to town without my special permission.”