There was a deep design in his mind, and he meant to carry it out--alone.
Mr. Mori Yada, apparently as cool and unconcerned as ever, presently
tripped down the steps of the police-station and went leisurely off,
swinging his neatly rolled umbrella. As long as he was within sight of the
police-station windows he kept up the same gentle pace--but as soon as he
had turned the first corner his steps were quickened, and he made for a
spot to which Melky had expected him to make--a cab-rank, on which two or
three taxi-cabs were drawn up. He had reached the first, and was
addressing the driver, when Melky, who had kept a few yards in the rear,
stole gently up to his side and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Mister!" said Melky. "A word--in private!"
Yada turned on his interrupter with the swiftness of a snake, and for a
second his white teeth showed themselves in an unmistakable snarl, and a
savage gleam came into his dark eyes. Both snarl and gleam passed as
quickly as they had come, and the next instant he was smiling--as blandly
as ever.
"Oh, yes!" he said. "It is you--how do you do? Perhaps you are going my
way--I can give you a lift--Yes?"
Melky drew his man away a yard or two, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
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