For he had scarcely reached the quiet
gloom of the trees when a man, who had followed him since he quitted
von Kerber's house, overtook him and touched his arm.
"Beg pardon," said the stranger, "but are you the gentleman who called
on Baron von Kerber half an hour ago?"
"Yes." Taken unawares, Dick was thrown off his guard for the instant.
"And you left his house just now?"
"Yes."
"To prevent a mistake, may I ask your name?"
"Certainly. It is Royson, Richard Royson."
"And address?"
A curious ring of satisfaction in the newcomer's voice carried a
warning note with it. Dick was conscious, too, that he had departed
from the new role assigned to him by his employer, yet it would be
absurd to begin explaining that he was not known as Royson, but as
King, in connection with von Kerber. The blunder annoyed him, and he
faced his questioner squarely.
"Before I give you any more information I want to know who you are," he
said.
His downright way of speaking appeared to carry conviction.
"Well, Mr.
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