“’O! good old “undistributed middle term!” How many intuitions have been born of you?’

“My triumph was short-lived.  A moment’s reflection sobered me.  True, I had found my murderer; but I had lost him again.  That bird of ill omen was still a bird in the bush; in the tangled bush of criminal London.  He had said that he would come to me again, and I hoped that he would.  But who could say?  Other eyes than mine were probably looking for him.

“I suppose I am by nature an optimist; otherwise I should not have continued the pursuit all these years.  Hence, having mastered the passing disappointment, I settled myself patiently to wait in the hope of my victim’s ultimate reappearance.  Not entirely passively, however, for, after the shop was shut, I went abroad nightly to frequent the foreign restaurants and other less reputable places of the East End in the hopes of meeting him and jogging his memory.  The active employment kept my mind occupied and made the time of waiting seem less long; but it had no further result.  I never met the man; and, as the weeks passed without bringing him to my net, I had the uncomfortable feeling that his hair must have grown and been trimmed by someone else; unless, indeed, he had fallen into the clutches of the law.

“Meanwhile I quietly made my preparations—­which involved one or two visits to a ship chandler’s—­and laid down a scheme of action.  It would be a delicate business.  The villain was some fifteen years younger than I; a sturdy ruffian and desperate, as I had seen.  My own strength and activity had been failing for some time now.  Obviously I could not meet him on equal terms.  Moreover, I must not allow him to injure me.  That was a point of honor.  This was to be no trial by wager of battle.  It was to be an execution.  Any retaliation by him would destroy the formal, punitive character which was the essence of the transaction.

“The weeks sped by.  They lengthened into months.  And still my visitor made no appearance.  My anxiety grew.  There were times when I looked at my white hair and doubted; when I almost despaired.  But those times passed and my spirits revived.  On the whole, I was hopeful and waited patiently; and in the end my hopes were justified and my patience rewarded.

“It was a fair evening early in June—­Wednesday evening, I recollect—­when at last he came.  Fortunately the shop was empty, and again, oddly enough, it was some Jewish holiday.

“I welcomed him effusively.  No fierce glare came from my eyes now.  I was delighted to see him and he was flattered at the profound impression his former visit had made on me.  I began very deliberately, for I could hardly hold the scissors and was afraid that he would notice the tremor; which, in fact, he did.

“‘Why does your hand shake so much, Mr. Vosper?’ he asked in his excellent English.  ‘You have not been curling your little finger, hein?’

“I reassured him on this point, but used a little extra care until the tremor should subside; which it did as soon as I got over my first excitement.  Meanwhile I let him talk—­he was a boastful, egotistical oaf, as might have been expected—­and I flattered and admired him until he fairly purred with self-satisfaction.  It was very necessary to get him into a good humor.