As he heard the sound of my opening door he started up,
and with a bound, was around the turn of the hall and pattering down
the stairs.
In another bound I was after him. I had seen his form for but a second,
and his face not at all. But in that second I knew him for Tim Terrill
of the snake-eyes and the murderous purpose.
When I reached the head of the stairs he was nowhere to be seen, but I
heard the patter of his feet below and plunged down three steps at a
time and into Clay street, nearly upsetting a stout gentleman in my
haste. The street was busy with people, but no sign of the snake-eyed
man greeted me.
Much disturbed in mind at this apparition of my enemy, I sought in vain
for some explanation of his presence. Was he spying on Doddridge Knapp?
Did he not stand on a better footing with his employer than this? He
was, I must suppose, trusted with the most secret and evil purposes of
that strange man, and should be able to speak with him on even terms.
Yet here he was, doing the work of the merest spy. What wickedness was
he planning? What treachery was he shaping in his designs on the man
whose bread he was eating and whose plans of crime he was the chief
agent to assist or execute?
I must have stood gaping in the street like a countryman at a fair as I
revolved these questions in my mind without getting an answer to them,
for I was roused by a man bumping into me roughly.
I suspected that he had done it on purpose, but I begged his pardon and
felt for my watch.
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