"It was here that the vanity of the little thief told me what I wanted to know. He drew from his pocket, with a nonchalant air—a sovereign. 'This is all that I have got,' he drawled. I found some coppers—I had to think quickly. He had told the police something, something worth paying for—what was it? It could not have been a description of ourselves, for if he had recognised us then, he would have known me when I struck the match and when I stood there, as I did, in the full glare of the light of the coffee- stall. And then a cold fear came to me. Perhaps he had recognised me, and with a thief's cunning was holding me in conversation until he could get assistance to take me."
Poiccart paused for a moment, and drew a small phial from his pocket; this he placed carefully on the table.
"He
