I had that vague notion of a stranger
being interested in my movements which it is so impossible to define to
a friend, and which one is chary of seriously discussing with oneself.
Frequently, when the corner of a street was reached, I found myself
involuntarily turning to look back; and, prompted by instinct, I
suppose, for there was no reason about the matter, I varied my route to
and from the Uninhabited House, as much as the nature of the roads
permitted. Further, I ceased to be punctual as to my hours of business,
sometimes arriving at the office late, and, if Mr. Craven had anything
for me to do Cityward, returning direct from thence to River Hall
without touching Buckingham Street.
By this time February had drawn to a close, and better weather might
therefore have been expected; instead of which, one evening as I paced
westward, snow began to fall, and continued coming down till somewhere
about midnight.
Next morning Mrs. Stott drew my attention to certain footmarks on the
walks, and beneath the library and drawing-room windows--the footmarks,
evidently, of a man whose feet were not a pair. With the keenest
interest, I examined these traces of a human pursuer. Clearly the
footprints had been made by only one person, and that person deformed in
some way.
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