“Don't misunderstand me,” he said. “Of course, within reason, we are bound to respect Lord Penshurst's wishes, but Scotland Yard is not a political association; it is a police force, and if we find crime being introduced into politics it is certainly our business to inquire into the matter.”
“Do I understand you to suggest that Lord Penshurst would dabble in crime?” asked Westerham.
The detective threw up his hands in horror.
“Certainly not!” he said vehemently. “Certainly not! It is you we still suspect, not Lord Penshurst. Good gracious! Certainly not!”
“You suspect me, I presume, to such an extent,” replied Westerham, “that if I left this hotel I am pretty sure to be followed. Well, follow me,” he added with a laugh, “and catch me if you can.”
And taking up his hat he walked out.
He was perfectly right in his suspicions, and as he moved down the Strand and looked into the shop windows he was conscious that a bulky man dogged his footsteps. The pursuit, however, rather sharpened Westerham's wits than otherwise, and raised his spirits rather than depressed them. It served to take his thoughts from the grim business which was beginning to weigh him down.
Westerham's notions of evading capture were somewhat immature, as it was a new experience for him to find the police constantly upon his track. Very little ingenuity, however, sufficed to rid him, at least for a time, of his pursuers.
He strolled along Piccadilly and up the Burlington Arcade.
He entered Truefit's, where he made a small and totally unnecessary purchase.