— XXXV —COUSINS
About three o’clock on the afternoon of that day Mr. Smithers was in Piccadilly. Just after he had passed Arlington Street someone spoke to him, who had approached him from behind.
“Drew!”
At the sound of the voice he gave a perceptible start. One might have suspected him of a desire to ignore the speaker and march straight on. But if such was his intention it was frustrated by the other’s insistence.
“Drew, I say!”
The words were uttered with an emphasis which refused evasion. After what was plainly enough a further moment’s hesitation, Mr. Smithers turned, to find himself confronted by a man who had both a singular likeness and unlikeness to himself. This other man was shorter, smaller altogether. He was not so broad. He had not that air which compelled attention – a
