Whittington and his companion were walking at a good pace. Tommy star-ted in pursuit at once, and was in time to see them turn the corner of thestreet. His vigorous strides soon enabled him to gain upon them, and bythe time he, in his turn, reached the corner the distance between themwas sensibly lessened1. The small Mayfair streets were comparativelydeserted, and he judged it wise to content himself with keeping them insight.
The sport was a new one to him. Though familiar with the technicalitiesfrom 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 pro-ceeding was fraught4 with difficulties. Supposing, for instance, that theyshould suddenly hail a taxi? In books, you simply leapt into another,promised the driver a sovereign—or its modern equivalent—and thereyou were. In actual fact, Tommy foresaw that it was extremely likely therewould be no second taxi. Therefore he would have to run. What happenedin actual fact to a young man who ran incessantly5 and persistentlythrough the London streets? In a main road he might hope to create the il-lusion that he was merely running for a bus. But in these obscure aristo-cratic byways he could not but feel that an officious policeman might stophim to explain matters.
At this juncture6 in his thoughts a taxi with flag erect7 turned the cornerof the street ahead. Tommy held his breath. Would they hail it?
He drew a sigh of relief as they allowed it to pass unchallenged. Theircourse was a zigzag8 one designed to bring them as quickly as possible toOxford Street. When at length they turned into it, proceeding9 in an east-erly direction, Tommy slightly increased his pace. Little by little he gainedupon them. On the crowded pavement there was little chance of his at-tracting their notice, and he was anxious if possible to catch a word or twoof their conversation. In this he was completely foiled: they spoke10 low andthe din3 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’. Therethey went up to the first floor, and sat at a small table in the window. Itwas late, and the place was thinning out. Tommy took a seat at the tablenext to them sitting directly behind Whittington in case of recognition. Onthe other hand, he had a full view of the second man and studied him at-tentively. He was fair, with a weak, unpleasant face, and Tommy put himdown as being either a Russian or a Pole. He was probably about fiftyyears of age, his shoulders cringed a little as he talked, and his eyes, smalland crafty11, shifted unceasingly.
Having already lunched heartily12, Tommy contented13 himself with order-ing a Welsh rarebit and a cup of coffee. Whittington ordered a substantiallunch for himself and his companion; then, as the waitress withdrew, hemoved his chair a little closer to the table and began to talk earnestly in alow voice. The other man joined in. Listen as he would, Tommy could onlycatch a word here and there; but the gist14 of it seemed to be some direc-tions or orders which the big man was impressing on his companion, andwith which the latter seemed from time to time to disagree. Whittingtonaddressed the other as Boris.
Tommy caught the word “Ireland” several times, also “propaganda,” butof Jane Finn there was no mention. Suddenly, in a lull15 in the clatter16 of theroom, he got one phrase entire. Whittington was speaking. “Ah, but youdon’t know Flossie. She’s a marvel17. An archbishop would swear she washis own mother. She gets the voice right every time, and that’s really theprincipal thing.”
Tommy did not hear Boris’s reply, but in response to it Whittington saidsomething that sounded like: “of course—only in an emergency. .?.?.”
Then he lost the thread again. But presently the phrases became distinctagain, whether because the other two had insensibly raised their voices,or because Tommy’s ears were getting more attuned18, he could not tell. Buttwo words certainly had a most stimulating19 effect upon the listener. Theywere uttered by Boris and they were: “Mr. Brown.”
Whittington seemed to remonstrate20 with him, but he merely laughed.
“Why not, my friend? It is a name most respectable—most common. Didhe not choose it for that reason? Ah, I should like to meet him — Mr.
Brown.”
There was a steely ring in Whittington’s voice as he replied:
“Who knows? You may have met him already.”
“Bah!” retorted the other. “That is children’s talk—a fable21 for the police.
Do you know what I say to myself sometimes? That he is a fable inventedby the Inner Ring, a bogy to frighten us with. It might be so.”
“And it might not.”
“I wonder .?.?. or is it indeed true that he is with us and amongst us, un-known to all but a chosen few? If so, he keeps his secret well. And the ideais a good one, yes. We never know. We look at each other—one of us is Mr.
Brown—which? He commands—but also he serves. Among us—in themidst of us. And no one knows which he is. .?.?.”
With an effort the Russian shook off the vagary22 of his fancy. He lookedat his watch.
“Yes,” said Whittington. “We might as well go.”
He called the waitress and asked for his bill. Tommy did likewise, and afew moments later was following the two men down the stairs.
Outside, Whittington hailed a taxi, and directed the driver to Waterloo.
Taxis were plentiful23 here, and before Whittington’s had driven off an-other was drawing up to the curb24 in obedience25 to Tommy’s peremptoryhand.
“Follow that other taxi,” directed the young man. “Don’t lose it.”
The elderly chauffeur26 showed no interest. He merely grunted27 andjerked down his flag. The drive was uneventful. Tommy’s taxi came to restat the departure platform just after Whittington’s. Tommy was behindhim at the booking office. He took a first- class single to Bournemouth,Tommy did the same. As he emerged, Boris remarked, glancing up at theclock: “You are early. You have nearly half an hour.”
Boris’s words had aroused a new train of thought in Tommy’s mind.
Clearly Whittington was making the journey alone, while the other re-mained in London. Therefore he was left with a choice as to which hewould follow. Obviously, he could not follow both of them unless—LikeBoris, he glanced up at the clock, and then to the announcement board ofthe trains. The Bournemouth train left at 3:30. It was now ten past. Whit-tington and Boris were walking up and down by the bookstall. He gaveone doubtful look at them, then hurried into an adjacent telephone box.
He dared not waste time in trying to get hold of Tuppence. In all probabil-ity she was still in the neighbourhood of South Audley Mansions28. But thereremained another ally. He rang up the Ritz and asked for Julius Hersheim-mer. There was a click and a buzz. Oh, if only the young American was inhis room! There was another click, and then “Hello” in unmistakable ac-cents came over the wire.
“That you, Hersheimmer? Beresford speaking. I’m at Waterloo. I’ve fol-lowed Whittington and another man here. No time to explain. Whitting-ton’s off to Bournemouth by the 3:30. Can you get here by then?”
The reply was reassuring29.
“Sure. I’ll hustle30.”
The telephone rang off. Tommy put back the receiver with a sigh of re-lief. His opinion of Julius’s power of hustling31 was high. He felt instinctivelythat the American would arrive in time.
Whittington and Boris were still where he had left them. If Boris re-mained to see his friend off, all was well. Then Tommy fingered his pocketthoughtfully. In spite of the carte blanche assured to him, he had not yetacquired the habit of going about with any considerable sum of money onhim. The taking of the first-class ticket to Bournemouth had left him withonly a few shillings in his pocket. It was to be hoped that Julius would ar-rive better provided.
In the meantime, the minutes were creeping by: 3:15, 3:20, 3:25, 3:27.
Supposing Julius did not get there in time. 3:29. .?.?. Doors were banging.
Tommy felt cold waves of despair pass over him. Then a hand fell on hisshoulder.
“Here I am, son. Your British traffic beats description! Put me wise to thecrooks right away.”
“That’s Whittington—there, getting in now, that big dark man. The otheris the foreign chap he’s talking to.”
“I’m on to them. Which of the two is my bird?”
Tommy had thought out this question.
“Got any money with you?”
Julius shook his head, and Tommy’s face fell.
“I guess I haven’t more than three or four hundred dollars with me atthe moment,” explained the American.
Tommy gave a faint whoop32 of relief.
“Oh, Lord, you millionaires! You don’t talk the same language! Climbaboard the lugger. Here’s your ticket. Whittington’s your man.”
“Me for Whittington!” said Julius darkly. The train was just starting ashe swung himself aboard. “So long, Tommy.” The train slid out of the sta-tion.
Tommy drew a deep breath. The man Boris was coming along the plat-form towards him. Tommy allowed him to pass and then took up thechase once more.
From Waterloo Boris took the Tube as far as Piccadilly Circus. Then hewalked up Shaftesbury Avenue, finally turning off into the maze33 of meanstreets round Soho. Tommy followed him at a judicious34 distance.
They reached at length a small dilapidated square. The houses there hada sinister35 air in the midst of their dirt and decay. Boris looked round, andTommy drew back into the shelter of a friendly porch. The place was al-most deserted2. It was a cul-de-sac, and consequently no traffic passed thatway. The stealthy way the other had looked round stimulated36 Tommy’simagination. From the shelter of the doorway37 he watched him go up thesteps of a particularly evil-looking house and rap sharply, with a peculiarrhythm, on the door. It was opened promptly39, he said a word or two to thedoorkeeper, then passed inside. The door was shut to again.
It was at this juncture that Tommy lost his head. What he ought to havedone, what any sane40 man would have done, was to remain patientlywhere he was and wait for his man to come out again. What he did do wasentirely foreign to the sober common sense which was, as a rule, his lead-ing characteristic. Something, as he expressed it, seemed to snap in hisbrain. Without a moment’s pause for reflection he, too, went up the steps,and reproduced as far as he was able the peculiar38 knock.
The door swung open with the same promptness as before. A villainous-faced man with close-cropped hair stood in the doorway.
“Well?” he grunted.
It was at that moment that the full realization41 of his folly42 began to comehome to Tommy. But he dared not hesitate. He seized at the first wordsthat came into his mind.
“Mr. Brown?” he said.
To his surprise the man stood aside.
“Upstairs,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “second door onyour left.”
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1
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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8
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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vagary
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| n.妄想，不可测之事，异想天开 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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27
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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30
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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31
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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32
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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41
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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42
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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