“Pah!” said Tarlyon.
We walked up Park Lane.
And suddenly Tarlyon gripped my arm, and waved his stick and whispered—
“Look at that! Ralph, just look at that!”
Ten yards or so ahead of us loomed the back of a giant. He was striding on with huge steps, a black cloak was flung about him, and he wore no hat. Maybe it was the cloak, swaying this way and that, and one end flapping over a shoulder, that made the man seem taller than he really was—but it was a colossal back.
“It’s reminiscent,” Tarlyon murmured. “I can’t help a feeling about that back—it’s reminiscent.”
“It’s reminiscent,” I whispered, “of a back I once lent money to. One hundred pounds it was....”
We quickened our pace. The huge figure passed under the light of a lamp, and the light fell on his bare head, and his hair flamed up like fire.
The huge figure, the arrogant walk, the flaming ginger hair....
“Red Antony!” I murmured.