obtained evidence sufficient to secure three judicial separations, but not a single clue leading to 'The Scorpion'! No matter.
At every available opportunity I haunted the East-End streets, hoping for a glimpse of the big car and the brown-skinned chauffeur or of my scarred man from Paris. I frequented all sorts of public bars and eating-houses used by foreign and Asiatics. By day and by night I roamed about the dismal thoroughfares of that depressing district, usually with my flag down to imply that I was engaged.
Such diligence never goes long unrewarded. One evening, having discharged a passenger, a mercantile officer, at the East India Docks, as I was drifting, watchfully, back through Limehouse, I saw a large car pull up just ahead of me in the dark. A man got out and the car was driven off.
Two courses presented themselves. I was not sure that this was the car for which I sought, but it strangely resembled it. Should I follow the car or the man? A rapid decision was called for. I followed the man.
That I had not been mistaken in the identity of the car shortly appeared. The man took out a cigar and standing on the corner opposite the Town Hall, lighted it. I was close to him at the time, and by the light of the match, which he sheltered with his hands, I saw the scarred and bearded face!
Having lighted his cigar, he crossed the road and entered the saloon of a neighbourhood public-house. Locking my cab I, also, entered that saloon. I ordered a glass of bitter beer and glanced around at the object of my interest. He had obtained a glass of brandy and was contorting his hideous face as he sipped the beverage. I laughed.
'Have they tried to poison you, mister!' I said.
'Ah,
'You want to have it out of a bottle,' I continued confidentially— 'Martell's Three Stars.'
He stared at me uncomprehendingly.
'I don't know,' he said haltingly. 'I have very little English.'
'Oh, that's it!' I cried, speaking French with a barbarous accent. 'You only speak French?'
'Yes, yes,' he replied eagerly. 'It is so difficult to make oneself understood. This spirit is not cognac, it is some kind of petrol!'
Finishing my bitter, I ordered two glasses of good brandy and placed one before 'Le Balafre.'
'Try that,' I said, continuing to speak in French, 'You will find it is better.'
He sipped from his glass and agreed that I was right. We chatted together for ten minutes and had another drink, after which my dangerous-looking acquaintance wished me good-night and went out. The car had come from the West, and I strongly suspected that my man either lived in the neighbourhood or had come there to keep an appointment. Leaving my cab outside the public-house, I followed him on foot, down Three Colt Street to Ropemaker Street, where he turned into a narrow alley leading to the riverside. It was straight and deserted, and I dared not follow further until he had reached the corner. I heard his footsteps pass right to the end. Then the sound died away. I ran to the corner. The back of a wharf building—a high blank wall—faced a row of ramshackle tenements, some of them built of wood; but not a soul was in sight.
I reluctantly returned to the spot at which I had left the cab—and found a constable there who wanted to know what I meant by leaving a vehicle in the street unattended. I managed to enlist his sympathy by telling him that I had been in pursuit of a 'fare' who had swindled me with a bad half-crown. The ruse succeeded.
'Which street did he go down, mate?' asked the constable.
I described the street and described the scarred man. The constable shook his head.
'Sounds like one o' them foreign sailormen,' he said. 'But I don't know what he can have gone down there for. It's nearly all Chinese, that part.'
His words came as a revelation; they changed the whole complexion of the case. It dawned upon me even as he spoke the word 'Chinese' that the golden scorpion which I had seen in the Paris cafe was of Chinese workmanship! I started my engine and drove slowly to that street in which I had lost the track of 'Le Balafre.' I turned the cab so that I should be ready to drive off at a moment's notice, and sat there wondering what my next move should be. How long I had been there I cannot say, when suddenly it began to rain in torrents.
What I might have done or what I had hoped to do is of no importance; for as I sat there staring out at the dismal rain-swept street, a man came along, saw the head-lamps of the cab and stopped, peering in my direction. Evidently perceiving that I drove a cab and not a private car, he came towards me.
'Are you disengaged?' he asked.
Whether it was that I sympathized with him—he had no topcoat or umbrella—or whether I was guided by Fate I know not, but as he spoke I determined to give up my dreary vigil for that night.
'Well, I suppose I am, sir,' I said, and asked him where he wanted to go.
He gave an address not five hundred yards from my own rooms! I thought this so curious that I hesitated no longer.
'Jump in,' I said; and still seeking in my mind for a link between the scorpion case and China, I drove off, and in less than half an hour, for the streets were nearly empty, arrived at my destination.
The passenger, whose name was Dr. Keppel Stuart, very kindly suggested a glass of hot grog, and I did not refuse his proferred hospitality. When I came out of his house again, the rain had almost ceased, and just as I stooped to crank the car I thought I saw a shadowy figure moving near the end of a lane which led to the tradesmen's entrance of Dr. Stuart's house. A sudden suspicion laid hold upon me—a horrible doubt.
Having driven some twenty yards along the road, I leaned from my seat and looked back. A big man wearing a black waterproof overall was standing looking after me!
Remembering how cleverly I had been trailed from Miguel's cafe to my flat, in Paris (for I no longer doubted that someone had followed me on that occasion), I now perceived that I might again be the object of the same expert's attention. Stopping my engine half-way along the next road, I jumped out and ran back, hiding in the bushes which grew beside the gate of a large empty house. I had only a few seconds to wait.
A big closed car, running almost silently, passed before me … and 'Le Balafre' was leaning out of the window!
At last I saw my chance of finding the headquarters of 'The Scorpion.' Alas! The man of the scar was as swift to recognize that possibility as I. A moment after he had passed my stationary cab, and found it to be deserted, his big car was off like the wind, and even before I could step out from the bushes the roar of the powerful engine was growing dim in the distance!
I was detected. I had to deal with dangerously clever people.
Chapter 6 Baiting the Trap
The following morning I spent at home, in my modest rooms, reviewing my position and endeavouring to adjust my plans in accordance with the latest development. 'The Scorpion' had scored a point. What had aroused the suspicions 'Le Balafre,' I knew not; but I was inclined to think that he had been looking from some window or peep-hole in the narrow street with the wooden houses when I had, injudiciously, followed him there.
On the other hand, the leakage might be in Paris—or in my correspondence system. The man of the scar might have been looking for me as I was looking for him. That he was looking for someone on the cross-channel boat I had not doubted.
He was aware, then that Charles Malet, cabman, was watching him. But was he aware that Charles Malet was Gaston Max? And did he know where I lived? Also—did he perchance think that my meeting with Dr. Stuart in Limehouse had been prearranged? Clearly he had seen Dr. Stuart enter my cab, for he had pursued us to Battersea.
This course of reflection presently led me to a plan. It was a dangerous plan, but I doubted if I should ever find myself in greater danger than I was already.
That night, well knowing that I carried my life in my hands, I drove again to Limehouse Town Hall, and again leaving my cab outside went into the bar where I had preciously me 'Le Balafre.' If I had doubted that my movements were watched I must now have had such doubts dispelled; for two minutes later the man with the scar
