We turned the next corner and saw the man thirty yards before us, walking,
and pulling up his sleeve at the shoulder, so as to conceal the rent.
Plainly he felt save [safe?] from further molestation.
"That's Sim Wilks," Hewitt explained, as we followed, "the 'juce of a
foine jintleman' who got Leamy to carry his bag, and the man who knows
where the Quinton ruby is, unless I am more than usually mistaken. Don't
stare after him, in case he looks round. Presently, when we get into the
busier streets, I shall have a little chat with him."
But for some time the man kept to the back streets. In time, however, he
emerged into the Buckingham Palace Road, and we saw him stop and look at a
hat-shop. But after a general look over the window and a glance in at the
door he went on.
"Good sign!" observed Hewitt; "got no money with him--makes it easier for
us."
In a little while Wilks approached a small crowd gathered about a woman
fiddler. Hewitt touched my arm, and a few quick steps took us past our man
and to the opposite side of the crowd. When Wilks emerged, he met us
coming in the opposite direction.
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