"They bear, I regret to say, a close
resemblance to the symptoms of a well-known form of
hallucination. In short, with one exception, they may practically
all be classed under the head of surveillance."
"Surveillance," said Paul Harley. "You mean that you are more or
less constantly followed?"
"I do."
"And what is your impression of this follower?"
"A very hazy one. To-night, as I came to your office, I have
every reason to believe that someone followed me in a taxicab."
"You came in a car?"
"I did."
"And a cab followed you the whole way?"
"Practically the whole way, except that as my chauffeur turned
into Chancery Lane, the cab stopped at the corner of Fleet
Street."
"Your idea is that your pursuer followed on foot from this
point?"
"Such was my impression."
"H'm, quite impossible. And is this sort of thing constant, Sir
Charles?"
"It has been for some time past."
"Anything else?"
"One very notable thing, Mr. Harley. I was actually assaulted
less than a week ago within sight of my own house."
"Indeed! Tell me of this." Paul Harley became aware of an
awakening curiosity. Sir Charles Abingdon was not the type of man
who is lightly intimidated.
"I had been to visit a friend in the neighbourhood," Sir Charles
continued, "whom I am at present attending professionally,
although I am actually retired. I was returning across the
square, close to midnight, when, fortunately for myself, I
detected the sound of light, pattering footsteps immediately
behind me.
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