“That scoundrel of a spy—the chief one. I know him of old. I’ve long owed him a score on my own account; and I am now doubly in his debt on yours, and that of my country—disgraced by this infamy!”
“And how would you act?”
Maynard did not make immediate answer. He was still reflecting.
“Governor!” he said, after a time, “you’ve told me that your guests are followed by one or other of these fellows?”
“Always followed; on foot if they be walking; in a cab if riding. It is a hansom cab that follows them—the same you saw just now. It is gone; but only to the corner, where it is kept continually on the stand—its driver having instructions to obey a signal.”
“What sort of a signal?”
“It is made by the sounding of a shrill whistle—a dog-call.”
“And who rides in the hansom?”
“One or other of the two fellows you have seen. In the day time it is the one who occupies the blinded window; at night the duty is usually performed by the gentleman just returned—your old acquaintance, as you say.”
“This will do!” said Maynard, in soliloquy.