"The American gentleman has just gone out, sir," said the sergeant
at the door.

I nodded grimly and raced down the steps. Despite my half-formed
desire that the slipper should be recovered by those to whom
properly it belonged, I experienced at times a curious interest in
its welfare. I cannot explain this. Across the hall in front of
me I saw Earl Dexter passing out of the Museum. I followed him
through into Kingsway and thence to Fleet Street. He sauntered
easily along, a nonchalant gray figure. I had begun to think that
he was bound for his hotel and that I was wasting my time when he
turned sharply into quiet Salisbury Square; it was almost deserted.

My heart leapt into my mouth with a presentiment of what was coming
as I saw an elegant and beautifully dressed woman sauntering along
in front of us on the far side.

Was it that I detected something familiar in her carriage, in the
poise of her head--something that reminded me of former
unforgettable encounters; encounters which without exception had
presaged attempts upon the slipper of the Prophet? Or was it that
I recollected how Dexter had booked two passages to America? I
cannot say, but I felt my heart leap; I knew beyond any possibility
of doubt that this meeting in Salisbury Square marked the opening
of a new chapter in the history of the slipper.

Dexter slipped his arm within that of the girl in front of him and
they paced slowly forward in earnest conversation. I suppose my