How had he escaped the death of a spy and a murderer, for I had last seen him in the hands of justice?
...

Of course he had known me from the first day in Biggleswick ...

I had thought to play with him, and he had played most cunningly and damnably with me.

In that sweating sardine-tin of refugees I shivered in the bitterness of my chagrin.
And then I found his face turned to mine, and I knew that he recognized me.

More, I knew that he knew that I had recognized him--not as Ivery, but as that other man.