To attempt, at such an hour, to glean
information from the sharp-tongued young person who had just admitted
herself with a latchkey, was to court failure and suspicion. He must bide
his time. Winter was an adept in ferreting out facts concerning these
localities and their denizens. To Winter the inquiry must be left.
He stopped at the further end of the street, lit a cigar, and walked back.
He had again passed No. 37, giving a casual glance to the second floor
front window, in which a light illumined the blind, when he became aware
that a man was approaching from the Kennington Park Road. Otherwise the
street was empty.
The lamp opposite No. 37 did not throw its beams far into the gloom, but
the advancing figure instantly enlisted Brett's attention.
The man was tall and strongly built. He moved with the ease of an athlete.
He walked with a long, swinging stride, yet carried himself erect He was
attired in a navy blue serge suit and a bowler hat.
The two were rapidly nearing each other.
At ten yards' distance Brett knew that the other man was he whom he
sought, the murderer of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer, the human ogre whose mission
on earth seemed to be the extinction of all who bore that fated name.
It is idle to deny that Brett was startled by this unexpected rencontre.
Not until he made the discovery did he remember that he was carrying the
stick rescued from the mud of Northumberland Avenue.
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