Between this terrace and Markendale Square was a narrow passage, little
frequented save by residents, or by such folk familiar enough with the
neighbourhood to know that it afforded a shortcut. Viner was about to
turn into this passage, a dark affair set between high walls, when a
young man darted hurriedly out of it, half collided with him, uttered a
hasty word of apology, ran across the road and disappeared round the
nearest corner. But just there stood a street-lamp, and in its glare
Viner caught sight of the hurrying young man's face. And when the
retreating footsteps had grown faint, Viner still stood staring in the
direction in which they had gone.
"That's strange!" he muttered. "I've seen that chap somewhere--I know
him. Now, who is he? And what made him in such a deuce of a hurry?"
It was very quiet at that point. There seemed to be nobody about. Behind
him, far down the long, wide terrace, he heard slow, measured
steps--that, of course, was a policeman on his beat. But beyond the
subdued murmur of the traffic in the Bayswater Road in one direction and
in Bishop's Road, Viner heard nothing but those measured steps.
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