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CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE IN SOHO

WHITTINGTON and his companion were walking at a good pace. Tommy started

in pursuit at once, and was in time to see them turn the corner of the street. His

vigorous strides soon enabled him to gain upon them, and by the time he, in his

turn, reached the corner the distance between them was sensibly lessened. The

small Mayfair streets were comparatively deserted, and he judged it wise to

content himself with keeping them in sight.

The sport was a new one to him. Though familiar with the technicalities from a

course of novel reading, he had never before attempted to "follow" anyone, and it

appeared to him at once that, in actual practice, the proceeding was fraught with

difficulties. Supposing, for instance, that they should suddenly hail a taxi? In

books, you simply leapt into another, promised the driver a sovereign--or its

modern equivalent--and there you were. In actual fact, Tommy foresaw that it

was extremely likely there would be no second taxi. Therefore he would have to

run. What happened in actual fact to a young man who ran incessantly and

persistently through the London streets? In a main road he might hope to create

the illusion that he was merely running for a bus. But in these obscure

aristocratic byways he could not but feel that an officious policeman might stop

him to explain matters.

At this juncture in his thoughts a taxi with flag erect turned the corner of the

street ahead. Tommy held his breath. Would they hail it?

He drew a sigh of relief as they allowed it to pass unchallenged. Their course was

a zigzag one designed to bring them as quickly as possible to Oxford Street. When

at length they turned into it, proceeding in an easterly direction, Tommy slightly

increased his pace. Little by little he gained upon them. On the crowded

pavement there was little chance of his attracting their notice, and he was

anxious if possible to catch a word or two of their conversation. In this he was

completely foiled; they spoke low and the din of the traffic drowned their voices

effectually.

Just before the Bond Street Tube station they crossed the road, Tommy,

unperceived, faithfully at their heels, and entered the big Lyons'. There they went

up to the first floor, and sat at a small table in the window. It was late, and the

place was thinning out. Tommy took a seat at the table next to them, sitting

directly behind Whittington in case of recognition. On the other hand, he had a

full view of the second man and studied him attentively. He was fair, with a weak,

The Secret Adversary