It is difficult to imagine a more embarrassing situation for the professional sleuth than to find himself suddenly taken into the confidence of the person he is shadowing.

But _was_ he being taken into Mr.Wynne's confidence?
Ah! That was the question! Admitting that Mr.Wynne knew who he was, and admitting that he knew he was being followed, was not this apparent frankness an attempt to throw him off the scent?
He would see, would Mr.
Birnes.
He quickened his pace a little, then slowed up instantly, because Mr.
Wynne had stopped on the corner of Madison Avenue, and as a downtown car came rushing along he stepped out to board it.

Mr.Birnes scuttled across the street, and by a dexterous jump swung on the car as it fled past.

Mr.Wynne had gone forward and was taking a seat; Mr.Birnes remained on the back platform, sheltered by the accommodating bulk of a fat man, and flattered himself that Mr.
Wynne had not seen him.

By peering over a huge shoulder the detective was still able to watch Mr.Wynne.
He saw him pay his fare, and then he saw him place the small sole-leather grip on his knees and unfasten the catch.