be his own, and he was determined to devote every minute of the day to his search.
The days he continued to spend in aimless wandering along Piccadilly, Pall Mall, the Haymarket, and the Park, looking into every face he met, now quickening his pace to overtake some likely girl, now slowing down to allow another to pass. He felt sure that the police had him under observation. It must, he decided, appear all so obvious.
Several times he jumped into a taxi and instructed the driver to follow some other taxi or car. The first time he did this he was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment; but the man's sang-froid convinced Beresford that there was nothing unusual in the procedure. Once he found himself at Richmond before discovering that his quarry was not the Rain-Girl. On another occasion he stopped the man when half-way to Beckenham. It was a curious thing, he decided, that every girl in a car or taxi who bore a sufficiently striking resemblance to the Rain-Girl to mislead him, seemed to be bound for a far-distant destination.
On one occasion, as he was standing at the corner of Bond Street, preparatory to crossing, a taxi darted out into the stream of Piccadilly traffic. He caught a momentary glimpse of the occupant, which sent his heart racing. Tumbling into an empty taxi he gave the man his instructions. The next moment his vehicle had come to a standstill with a grinding of tyres. The other taxi had stopped ten yards down
