Suddenly I saw the man, for whose reappearance I was so earnestly waiting,
step casually out on to the pavement. He attempted to cross the street and
was quickly lost to sight in a tangle of vehicles. A second later I could
have sworn that I saw him back again at the entrance to the passage below.
Then I heard a shout from the pavement and I distinctly saw him clamber
into the motor car, which shot off as though it had started in fourth
speed. An elderly gentleman, who had rushed from the shop, was halfway
across the street already. There was a chorus of shouts; traffic was
momentarily suspended; a policeman started running down the side street.
Then I turned away from the window. There were sounds closer at hand--a
footstep on the stairs, swift and gentle.
In a moment the door of the little manicure room was opened and closed.
Dagger Rodwell stood there, pale and breathless. Not a word passed between
him and the girl. He dashed into the third of the little cubicles, and it
seemed to me that in less than thirty seconds he reappeared.
The change was marvelous. He was wearing a tweed suit and a gray Homburg
hat. His eyeglass had gone. Even his collar and tie seemed different. He
sat down before the girl and held out his hand.
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