"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 ta
