There was no sign of him on the pavement.

Spying the door of a common stair nearly opposite the bank, I took it in my head that this would be a good point of observation, crossed the street, entered with a businesslike air and fell immediately against the man in the moleskin vest.

I stopped and apologised to him; he replied in an unmistakable English accent, thus putting the matter almost beyond doubt.

After this encounter I must, of course, ascend to the top story, ring the bell of a suite of apartments, inquire for Mr.Vavasour, learn (with no great surprise) that he did not live there, come down again and, again politely saluting the man from Bow Street, make my escape at last into the street.
I was now driven back upon the Assembly Ball.

Robbie had failed me.