The Narrative of Mr. James Rigby | Page 8

a child, my father's violent death had been preceded by just such
followings. And now after all these years, on my return, on the very
first night I walked abroad alone, there were strange footsteps in my
track. The walk was narrow, and nobody could possibly pass me
unseen. I turned suddenly, therefore, and hastened back. At once I saw
a dark figure rise from the shadow of the parapet and run. I ran too, but

I could not gain on the figure, which receded farther and more
indistinctly before me. One reason was that I felt doubtful of my
footing on the unfamiliar track. I ceased my chase, and continued my
stroll. It might easily have been some vagrant thief, I thought, who had
a notion to rush, at a convenient opportunity, and snatch my watch. But
ere I was far past the spot where I had turned there was the shuffling
footstep behind me again. For a little while I feigned not to notice it;
then, swinging round as swiftly as I could, I made a quick rush. Useless
again, for there in the distance scuttled that same indistinct figure, more
rapidly than I could run. What did it mean? I liked the affair so little
that I left the walls and walked toward my hotel.
The streets were quiet. I had traversed two, and was about emerging
into one of the two main streets, where the Rows are, when, from the
farther part of the dark street behind me, there came once more the
sound of the now unmistakable footstep. I stopped; the footsteps
stopped also. I turned and walked back a few steps, and as I did it the
sounds went scuffling away at the far end of the street.
It could not be fancy. It could not be chance. For a single incident
perhaps such an explanation might serve, but not for this persistent
recurrence. I hurried away to my hotel, resolved, since I could not come
at my pursuer, to turn back no more. But before I reached the hotel
there were the shuffling footsteps again, and not far behind.
It would not be true to say that I was alarmed at this stage of the
adventure, but I was troubled to know what it all might mean, and
altogether puzzled to account for it. I thought a great deal, but I went to
bed and rose in the morning no wiser than ever.
Whether or not it was a mere fancy induced by the last night's
experience I cannot say, but I went about that day with a haunting
feeling that I was watched, and to me the impression was very real
indeed. I listened often, but in the bustle of the day, even in quiet old
Chester, the individual characters of different footsteps were not easily
recognisable. Once however, as I descended a flight of steps from the
Rows, I fancied I heard the quick shuffle in the curious old gallery I
had just quitted. I turned up the steps again and looked. There was a

shabby sort of man looking in one of the windows, and leaning so far
as to hide his head behind the heavy oaken pilaster that supported the
building above. It might have been his footstep, or it might have been
my fancy. At any rate I would have a look at him. I mounted the top
stair, but as I turned in his direction the man ran off, with his face
averted and his head ducked, and vanished down another stair. I made
all speed after him, but when I reached the street he was nowhere to be
seen.
What could it all mean? The man was rather above the middle height,
and he wore one of those soft felt hats familiar on the head of the
London organ-grinder. Also his hair was black and bushy, and
protruded over the back of his coat-collar. Surely this was no delusion;
surely I was not imagining an Italian aspect for this man simply
because of the recollection of my father's fate?
Perhaps I was foolish, but I took no more pleasure in Chester. The
embarrassment was a novel one for me, and I could not forget it. I went
back to my hotel, paid my bill, sent my bag to the railway station, and
took train for Warwick by way of Crewe.
It was dark when I arrived, but the night was near as fine as last night
had been at Chester. I took a very little late dinner at my hotel, and fell
into a doubt what to do with myself. One rather fat and sleepy
commercial traveller was the only other customer visible, and the
billiard room was empty. There seemed to be nothing to do but to