"Exactly. And so it's happened on several days. And that's all I have to tell you."

"But surely you can indicate why--"

"No, I can't. All I can say is that for some reason, quite inexplicable by me, if I had come upon you in a crowd of a thousand, I should have had to attend to you."

"That's very strange," said Chichester, in a low voice; "very strange indeed."

"There's a reason for it, of course. There's a reason for everything, but very often it isn't found." At this point the professor thrust his head toward Chichester, and added, "you can't tell me the reason, I suppose?"

Chichester looked much startled and taken aback.

"I--oh, no!"

"Then we must get along in the dark and make the best of it."

Having said this, the professor abruptly dismissed the subject and began to talk of other things. When he chose he could be almost charming.

He chose on this occasion. And when at last he hailed a bus, declaring that he was due at home, Chichester expressed a hope that some day he would find himself in Hornton Street, and visit number 4a.

The professor a.s.sented, and was carried westward.

Several days pa.s.sed, but he did not find himself near Horton Street, and he had ceased to visit the South Kensington Museum. Then the curate wrote and invited him to tea. Despite a pretence at indifference in the phraseology of the note, the professor discovered a deep anxiety in the writing. Among other things he had studied, and minutely, graphology.

He sat down and very politely refused the invitation.

Then Chichester came to call on him, and caught him at home.

It was six o'clock in the evening, and the heavens were opened. Agnes, the Scotch parlor-maid who claimed to have second sight, opened the door to Chichester, who, speaking from beneath a dripping umbrella, inquired for the professor.

"He's in, sir, but he's busy."

"Could you take him my card?"

Agnes took it, much to her own surprise, and carried it to the professor's study.

"A gentleman, sir."

"I told you, Agnes--"

"I couldn't say no to him, sir."

"Why not? Here!" he took the card.

"Why not?" he repeated, when he had read the name.

"It wasn't in me to, sir."

"Well, then I shall have to see him. Show him up. But never again will I call you by the proud name of Cerberus."

So, putting the onus upon Agnes, the professor yielded, murmuring to himself:

"It wasn't in her to! Very expressive! And Cerberus, by the way, was always ready to let 'em in. It was when they wanted to get out that--Good evening. I hope you don't mind climbing."

"Thank you, no," said Chichester.

"Sit down."

"I am afraid I disturb you."

"I'm bound to say you do. But what does it matter?"

"As you didn't find your way to Hornton Street, I thought I would venture."

"Very good of you. This is a soft chair."

Chichester sat down. It had been evident to Stepton from the moment when his visitor came in that he was in great agony of mind. There was in his face a sort of still and abject misery which Stepton thought exceedingly promising. As he turned round, leaning his sharp elbow on his writing-table, Stepton was considering how to exploit this misery for the furthering of his purpose.

"I want you to tell me something," Chichester began. "I want to know why your attention was first attracted to me. I feel sure that you must be able to give a reason. What is it?"

"Well, now, I wish I could," returned Stepton.

To himself he gave the swift admonition, "Play for hysteria, and see what comes of it."

"I wish I could; but it's a mystery to me. But now--let's see."

He knitted his heavy brows.

"A long while ago I picked a man out, met him in a crowd, at the Crystal Palace, followed him about, couldn't get away from him. That same evening he was killed on the underground. I read of it in the paper, went to see the body, and there was my man."

"Do you claim to have some special faculty?" asked Chichester.

"Oh, dear, no. Besides, you haven't been killed on the underground--yet."

A curious expression that seemed mingled of disappointment and of contempt pa.s.sed across Chichester's face. Stepton saw it and told himself, "No hysteria."

"Possibly the reason may be a more intellectual one," observed the professor. "I hear you have been preaching some very remarkable sermons.

I haven't heard them. Still, others who have may have 'suggestioned' me.

Three quarters of any man's fame, you know, are due to mere suggestion."

"You're not the man to be the prey of that, I fancy--not the easy prey, at any rate."

"Then we're left again with no explanation at all, unless, as I believe I hinted once before, you can give us one."

Chichester looked down; without raising his eyes he presently said in a constrained voice:

"If I were to give you one you might not accept it."

"Probably not," said Stepton, briskly. "In my life I've been offered a great many explanations, and I'm bound to say I've accepted remarkably few."

Chichester looked up quickly, and with the air of a man nettled.