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Updated: June 23, 2025
On the one hand were his orders to shadow Matheson wherever he might go that night; on the other hand was his personal safety. He was keenly alive to the merciless ferocity of the Parisian apache, and he was unarmed. The wicked curved knife doubtless concealed under the belt of the apache turned the scale decisively in the mind of the shadower. He saw no call to risk his own life.
The shadower came on, displaying more and more caution as he approached the rocks, glancing hurriedly about him as he moved swiftly from cover to cover. Closer closer then Fairchild repressed a gasp.
He was not flustered by what was before him, for he had been shadowing people for eleven years, and as long as there was five dollars per day and his expenses in the work, he was willing to continue indefinitely. With the shadower gone, Adam Adams meditated for a moment and then donned his walking coat and his hat. In his pockets he placed several large but rather flat packages.
They had decided that there was more to be gained by letting Peter Ames think he was above suspicion than by keeping him on the anxious seat. Peter unrestrained was of more value to them than Peter in durance vile. And from that moment forward there would not be an hour of the day or night when he was far ahead of the shadower who followed his trail.
"And remember, if anything unusual occurs, let me know as soon as you can reach me." "I understand. Anything more?" Adam Adams mused for a moment. "Yes. You know Miss Bernard, who works for me here?" "Sure." "Well, take care that she doesn't see you shadowing Ostrello." "I'm wise," answered the shadower, smiling, and the next moment he was gone.
Beyond the clamorous glitter of the Place Pigalle, with its garish entertainment halls and all-night restaurants, there is a dark, narrow, winding lane ascending steeply to the great white sentinel church on the heights. Up this Matheson strode, still deep in thought, and his shadower followed. But, half-way up, a new factor cut sharply into the situation.
Instead of being a shadower he learned that he was being "shadowed." He had been there before. He could stand a shadow as well as he could shadow others. He determined to give the men a fair show, a better show than he usually got when playing the same game. He went to a well-known gambling place.
I was followed by my shadower to-day, and only succeeded in shaking him off just before coming here. I don't believe he knows what I am about to do." "Oh, yes he does," said Tom. "He does? How?" "Because he was here, and warned me against you!" "You don't mean it! Well, they are getting desperate! We must be on our guard. What sort of a man was he?" Tom described the fellow, and Mr.
He walked aimlessly westward, unconscious of and uncaring for his shadower, and had reached the end of Piccadilly when somebody took him gently by the arm. He turned, and as he recognised an acquaintance, his thick lips went back in an ugly snarl. "It's all right, Sam," said the plain-clothes policeman with a grin. "There's no trouble coming to you. I just want to ask you a few questions."
With evening coming on, it was almost sure to be deserted, though later, if there was a moon, murmuring voices would mingle with the eclipse of the swirling waters in the gully below. "Yes, it's a quiet place for a talk," mused the colonel. The man and woman passed on. Behind them came the shadower, and behind him Aaron Grafton.
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