When I opened the envelope I found that it contained a half-sheet of note-paper, with the following words written in a sloping, foreign-looking hand: 

“You will receive either a message or a visitor at five o’clock tomorrow afternoon.  Kindly make it convenient to be at home at that hour.”

That was all.  There was no signature and no address, and it struck me that as an example of polite letter-writing it certainly left something to be desired.  Still, the message was clear enough, which was the chief point, so, folding it up, I thrust it back into the envelope and put it away in my pocket.  After all, one can’t expect a really graceful literary style from a High Explosives Syndicate.

I wondered whether the note meant that the preparations which were being made for me at Tilbury were finally completed.  McMurtrie had promised me a week in Town, and so far I had only had two days; still I was hardly in a position to kick if he asked me to go down earlier.  Anyhow I should know the next day, so there seemed no use in worrying myself about it unnecessarily.

It was my intention to spend a quiet interval reading one of my books, before going out somewhere to get some dinner.  In pursuance of this plan I exchanged my boots for a pair of slippers and settled myself down comfortably in the only easy-chair in the room.  In about ten minutes’ time, faithful to her word, Gertie ’Uggins brought me up an excellent cup of tea, and stimulated by this and the combined intelligence and amorousness of Mr. Wells’s hero, I succeeded in passing two or three very agreeable hours.

At seven o’clock I roused myself rather reluctantly, put on my boots again, and indulged in the luxury of a wash and a clean collar.  Then, after ringing the bell and informing Mrs. Oldbury that I should be out to dinner, I left the house with the pleasantly vague intention of wandering up West until I found some really attractive restaurant.

It was a beautiful evening, more like June than the end of April; and with a cigarette alight, I strolled slowly along Victoria Street, my mind busy over the various problems with which Providence had seen fit to surround me.  I had got nearly as far as the Stores, when a sudden impulse took me to cross over and walk past our offices.  A taxi was coming up the road, so I waited for a moment on the pavement until it had passed.  The back part of the vehicle was open, and as it came opposite to me, the light from one of the big electric standards fell clear on the face of the man inside.  He was sitting bolt upright, looking straight out ahead, but in spite of his opera hat and his evening dress I recognized him at once.  It was the man with the scar—­the man I had imagined to be tracking me on the previous evening.

CHAPTER XII

A SCRIBBLED WARNING

I have never been slow to act in moments of sudden emergency, and in rather less than a second I had made up my mind.  The mere idea of stalking one’s own shadower was a distinctly attractive one; surrounded as I was by a baffling sense of mystery and danger I jumped at the chance with an almost reckless enthusiasm.