“That is my name,” Mannering answered, “but if you want to speak to me why don’t you come up like a man, instead of dogging my footsteps?  It looked as though you wanted to take me by surprise.  What is that you are hiding up your sleeve?”

The man held it out, placed it even in Mannering’s hand.

“A life preserver, steel, as you see, and with a beautiful spring.  Deadly weapon, isn’t it, sir?  Even a half-hearted sort of blow might kill a man.”

Mannering swung the weapon lightly in his hand.  It cut the air with a soft, sickly swish.

“What were you doing following me, on tiptoe, with this in your hand?” he asked, sternly.

“Well,” the man answered, as though forced to confess an unpleasant truth, “I am very much afraid that I was going to hit you with it.”

Mannering looked up and down the street for a policeman.

“Indeed!” he said.  “And may I ask why you changed your mind?”

“It was an inspiration,” the man answered, easily.  “To tell you the truth, the clumsiness of the whole thing grated very much upon me.  Personally, I ran no risk, don’t think it was that.  My escape was very carefully provided for.  But one thinks quickly in moments of excitement, and it seemed to me as I took those last few steps that I saw a better way.”

“A better way,” Mannering repeated, puzzled.  “I am afraid I don’t quite understand you.  I presume that you meant to rob me.  You would not have found it worth while, by the bye.”

The man laughed softly.

“My dear sir,” he exclaimed, “do I look like a robber?  Rumour says that you are a poor man.  I should think it very likely that, although I am not a rich one, I am at least as well off as you.”

Mannering looked out no more for the policeman.  He was getting interested.

“Come,” he said, “I should like to understand what all this means.  You were going to tap me on the head with this particularly unpleasant weapon, and your motive was not robbery.  I am not aware of ever having seen you before.  I am not aware of having an enemy in the world.  Explain yourself.”

“I should be charmed,” the man answered.  “I do not wish to keep you standing here, however.  Will you allow me to walk with you towards your home?  You can retain possession of that little trifle, if you like,” he added, pointing to the weapon which was still in Mannering’s hand.  “I can assure you that I have nothing else of the sort in my possession.  You can feel my pockets, if you like.”

“I will take your word!” Mannering said.  “I was on my way to Portland Crescent, but I fancy that I have taken a wrong turn.”

“We can get there this way,” the man answered.  “Excuse me one second.”

He paused, and lit a cigarette.  Then with his hands behind his back he stepped out by Mannering’s side.