Well, he was due any time now to disappear again, having worked quite six weeks in one place; and he disappeared. He disappeared for a good many weeks. I think it would be about February before I saw or heard of him again.
It was February weather, anyway, and in an echoing enough place that I found him—the subway of one of the Metropolitan stations. He'd probably forgotten the echoes when he'd taken the train; but, of course, the railway folk won't let a man who happens to dislike echoes go wandering across the metals where he likes.
He was twenty yards ahead when I saw him. I recognised him by his patched head and black hand-bag. I ran along the subway after him.
It was very curious. He'd been walking close to the white-tiled wall, and I saw him suddenly stop; but he didn't turn. He didn't even turn when I pulled up, close behind him; he put out one hand to the wall, as if to steady himself. But, the moment I touched his shoulder, he just dropped—just dropped, half on his knees against the white tiling. The face he turned round and up to me was transfixed with fright.
There were half a hundred people about—a train was just in—and it isn't a difficult matter in London to get a crowd for much less than a man crouching terrified against a wall, looking over his shoulder as Rooum looked, at another man almost as terrified. I felt somebody's hand on my own arm. Evidently somebody thought I'd knocked Rooum down.
The terror went slowly from his face. He stumbled to his feet. I shook myself free of the man who held me and stepped up to Rooum.
"What the devil's all this about?" I demanded, roughly enough.
"It's all right … it's all right,…" he stammered.
"Heavens, man, you shouldn't play tricks like that!"
"No … no … but for the love of God don't do it again!…"