He moved deliberately, his gray eyes bright, despite his out-ward appearance. His clothes were rough-hewn, much like his facial features. A small scar snaked under his right eye and coursed down his cheek like a red, scabbed river.<br/><br/>He spied the attractive women in the motor-car. The rain pelted her with a ferocity that did not seem to dissuade her intent gaze upon the book shop’s door.<br/><br/>His Master left nothing to chance. The man posses a uncanny ability to predict when a potential trouble may arise or whence it would come from.<br/><br/>That is what saved him. That is why he owed Sir Redvers Buller his life.<br/><br/>He walked, blending into the unrelenting gray of the city and the weather.<br/><br/>He was just out of her line of sight.<br/><br/>Watching.<br/><br/>Waiting for the right time.<br/><br/>The right moment.<br/><br/>To pounce on her lovely body.<br/><br/>And serve it up to his Master.