1 . follow the Toff . it was not the first time that the honourable Richard Rollison had been followed . it would not be the last . it had happened in many cities , and more than once before in this fair city of Paris in the spring . it had happened by day and by night , on land , on sea and in the air . Rollison himself , if challenged , would have said that he believed that every possible variation of the theme had been developed , yet on this day in May he knew that he had been wrong . it was the first time that such beauty had followed him . the beauty was undoubtedly English , although he had not yet heard her speak . she had that curiously indefinable quality , perhaps more rightly air , about her . it was not only the supreme simplicity of her black and white check suit , the coat short-waisted , the skirt just long enough to be in fashion , and to show most of the shapeliness of her legs . nor was it those long , slim legs , or her height - five feet eight or nine he judged - or her complexion , although undoubtedly her complexion had something to do with it . it was a little bit of everything . she had followed him from the Caf&amp;eacute; de Paris , of which it was said that if one sat long enough one would meet all the rest of the world ; in fact at the Caf&amp;eacute; de Paris he had first realised that she had been interested in him . she had walked past the long lines of wicker tables and chairs , most of them empty . the glass screens of winter had been whisked away and the spring sunshine not only made life serene but almost made it possible to forget the surging traffic , the growl and snarl of engines , the bark and clatter of taxis , the all-pervading stench of petrol fumes mingling with even worse from diesel oil . as Rollison had sat over late petit d&amp;eacute;jeuner , wondering why the French who made the world &apos;s worst coffee had a reputation for making it so well , and why the English , who made the world &apos;s best , were supposed to make the worst , the woman had walked past . she had looked at him and then walked quickly away . he had not been in a hurry , however ; such grace and slenderness and beauty were all too rare . he watched her go , a little pensive because he doubted whether he would ever have an excuse to meet her , perhaps not even to see her again . but soon she had turned back from the corner by the Place de l&apos;Op&amp;eacute;ra . that in itself had not been unusual ; people often walked as far as that , and then turned back . this time Rollison pretended to take no notice of her , but observed that she stared intently at him , and looked back at him several times . by then , Rollison &apos;s interest had become much stronger . for one thing , he realised just how remarkable the woman was to look at , and remarkable women could usually make his heart beat a little faster . for another thing , he was beginning to feel sure that she had recognised him and wanted to talk but could not summon up the courage - if courage was the word . he could make it easy for her , or make it comparatively hard . he would have made it easy but for the little man . this little man was almost certainly the man who had swindled Alice Day , who was now on her way to Australia . he fitted Mike &apos;s description to a T , and he spent some time at stations , outside night-clubs and other tourist haunts , offering money at a good rate of exchange . only a few people seemed to deal with him , and Rollison planned to catch him red-handed with forged notes . now this same man was following the Englishwoman , and Rollison did not try to guess whether she knew it or not . if she knew , she was taking no notice - unless , of course , awareness of the surveillance of the little man kept her from approaching Rollison boldly . it was a mildly intriguing situation , and quite entertaining ; it would have been amusing but for the woman &apos;s obvious anxiety . beauty in distress was never even remotely comic . an ordinary man , assessing the situation as Rollison assessed it , would almost certainly have found an excuse to talk to the woman , and might possibly have tried to shoo the little man off . there were times when Rollison - known as the Toff to the police of seven continents and to the criminals of six , would have taken such direct action , but this was not one of them . he had two reasons for being intrigued : his Aunt Gloria &apos;s two hundred pounds , and this beauty . at ten minutes to eleven the woman was some way along the Boulevard des Capucines in the direction of the Madeleine , and the little man was fifty yards behind her . every motor car in Paris seemed to be crammed into the road which had seemed wide in the days of horse carriages . Rollison called for his bill , paid , and allowed himself to be swept across the road with a surge of human beings all racing to make sure that they reached the opposite pavement before the roaring monsters of iron and steel were unleashed at the whirl of a gendarme &apos;s white baton or a trill on his hidden whistle . once on the far side , Rollison watched the woman , and he was tall enough to see and be seen without difficulty . when he was sure that she had spotted him , he discontinued a tentative interest in a window which exhibited every refinement of feminine foundation in black , pink , and pale mauve silk , and strolled towards the Madeleine . the woman walked in the same direction on the other side of the road . she followed him along the street opposite the church of the mammoth pillars towards the arid wastes of the Place de la Concorde , and then by devious dangerous routes towards the Seine . now and again Rollison made sure that not only the woman but the little man was behind him . then , as if at a loose end , he crossed to the Rue de Rivoli and became one of the thousands of tourists promenading beneath the arches and seduced by a million model Eiffel Towers and a thousand Joan of Arcs . the woman drew closer . Rollison dawdled . he thought that this time she would speak , for she actually passed within a yard of him . he imagined that he could hear her breathing agitatedly - but she passed without stopping . Rollison continued to study a window resplendent in Arab leatherwork and Moroccan silver , as the little man drew nearer . this little man was quite remarkable too . the task of following an individual through a city the size of Paris is not easy even for those people physically adapted to it , but he was only about five feet two inches high . heads and shoulders of all sizes , chests and bosoms of all shapes , arms and even hands got in his way , but doggedly he kept on the trail . he was n&apos;t remarkable in any other way ; in fact he was the type who could easily get lost in a crowd . Rollison judged him to be French , not only because he was blue-jowled and wore a slightly faded beret , but because he chain-smoked Skol cigarettes ; only a Frenchman could have such hardihood and courage . he had a pinched nose which looked as if it had been pushed to one side , and a little bloodless mouth , a surprisingly square and thrusting chin , and a well cut brown suit ; the beret did not quite match up to this . he wore suede shoes too of dark brown , a shade darker than the brown of his suit . all of this Mike had described very well . the woman had gone by . the little Frenchman was following . Rollison judged his moment , and stepped into the little man &apos;s path . there was a ridiculous contretemps of dither and dart , as if each man was trying to give way to the other , but in fact Rollison did not mean to give way until the moment was right . so they collided . a woman gasped : oo ! as only someone born in Blackpool could . the little man reeled back , as if dazed . Rollison gave a dazzling smile and apologised , and allowed the man to pass . then , watched by at least a dozen people , he darted his left hand towards the inside of his coat pocket . every method school of acting would have approved his performance . he looked startled , aghast , appalled , angry , and finally vengeful . then in the clearest and loudest of English he called : stop thief ! fifty people looked round , mostly English and American all open-mouthed , some ready to fling themselves forward with great courage , most trying to make sure that they could get out of the way . stop thief ! cried Rollison again , and moved with astonishing rapidity through the crowd towards the little Frenchman , who had not hurried and had not looked round . the Englishwoman was now staring at those massed gilt models of the Eiffel Tower , the Notre Dame , and Joan of Arc on a gilded statue , the original of which was only a hundred yards away . Rollison pounced on him , gripped his shoulder , and spun him round . the man gaped . a gendarme standing in the roadway trilled on his whistle , swung his baton and charged forward . a crowd collected , most of them people at a safe distance , but one sturdy Yorkshireman and his wife came to Rollison &apos;s support . is that reet ? the Yorkshireman demanded . did he take summat out of thy pocket ? the scoundrel stole my wallet , asserted Rollison , and as he spoke the gendarme came up and rested a hand on the butt of his revolver , warningly , and machine-gunned a dozen questions . I do n&apos;t understand a word you &apos;re saying , lied Rollison hotly . this man pretended to collide with me just now , and stole my wallet . that is not so , declared the little man , in highly accented English . eet is the big lie . the gendarme demanded , in French , to know what exactly had happened . Rollison tapped his pocket , thrust his hand inside , drew it out empty , and declared : he - stole - my - wallet . that - ees - the - lie . m&apos;sieu , je demande que vous parlez Francais . he stole - the little man turned to the gendarme and poured out an earnest , even an impassioned denial - he had not touched Rollison &apos;s wallet , he had not touched Rollison . he was a law-abiding citizen , he was not to be insulted , he - he stole my wallet ! roared Rollison . eeeh , lad , better leave it to me , said the Yorkshireman and began to talk in surprisingly colloquial French in spite of an unbelievable admixture of Yorkshire accent . even the little man was silenced , and the gendarme appeared to begin to understand . as the Yorkshireman finished , the gendarme held his baton at the ready and spoke with the air of a Solomon : if this man stole your wallet , he will have it with him now . Rollison just saved himself from agreeing in French and asked the Yorkshireman : what &apos;s all the blathering about ? he says that if this man stole tha wallet he &apos;d still have it on him . fair enough , agreed Rollison . so why not search him ? you look , you see - nothing , declared the little Frenchman . he gripped the edges of his coat , and flung it open at arms &apos; length , as if he hoped to be able to take off and fly with these homemade wings . he was undoubtedly convinced that the wallet was not there , perhaps because he had never met Rollison before . the gendarme stared , the Yorkshireman gaped and glanced with earthy satisfaction at Rollison . a dozen other people craned forward to see Rollison &apos;s crocodile leather wallet showing fully an inch above the Frenchman &apos;s pocket . eeeh , lad , said the Yorkshireman , tha &apos;d best leave talking to me . just tell me where thou &apos;rt staying and I &apos;ll talk to copper for thee . I do n&apos;t know what I would have done without you , said Rollison warmly . 