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 himself at last. A tall figure quickly drew near and stopped before him. Philip raised his eyes. As he expected, it was the foe.

"Good-evening, Mr. Touchtone," the man began in his smoothest voice, offering to shake hands, and directing his black eyes full into Philip's steady ones.

Philip drew himself up, and, paying no heed whatever to the hand, responded stiffly, "Good-evening." He made as if he would have passed on, but then the other stepped directly in his way.

"Pray, don't be in a hurry," he said, in a lower tone, with a different note coming into it, that did not surprise Philip, "I think, considering the extraordinary way that you gave me the slip yesterday, and since I have taken passage on this steamer expressly to have the pleasure of a talk with you, I deserve a little of your valuable time, eh?"

Philip flushed at the familiarity of the man's speech. However, to lose temper would be the foolishest course. Surely this was the very opportunity he sought.

"I'm sorry, but I can give you very little time," he replied. "And you are mistaken. I