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. Nom d'un nom! I had not forgotten the poor Jean Sach!
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 came in and greeted me affably!
I had learned something else. He did not know that I had recognized him as the person who had tracked me to Dr. Stuart's house!
He invited me to drink with him, and I did so. As we raised our glasses I made a move. Looking all about me suspiciously:
"Am I right in supposing that you have business in this part of
London?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied "My affairs bring me here sometimes."
"You are well acquainted with the neighbourhood?"
"Fairly well. But actually of course I am a stranger to London."
I tapped him confidentially upon the breast.
"Take my advice, as a friend," I said, "and visit these parts as rarely as possible."
"Why do you say that?"
"It is dangerous. From the friendly manner in which you entered into conversation with me, I perceived that you were of a genial and unsuspicious nature. Very well. I warn you. Last night I was followed from a certain street not far from here to the house of a medical man who is a specialist in certain kinds of criminology, you understand."
He stared at me very hard, his teeth bared by that fearful snarl. "You are a strange cabman."
"Perhaps I am. No matter. Take my advice. I have things written here"—I tapped the breast of my tunic—"which will astonish all the world shortly. I tell you, my friend, my fortune is made."
I finished my drink and ordered another for myself and one for my acquaintance. He was watching me doubtfully. Taking up my replenished glass, I emptied it at a draught and ordered a third. I leaned over towards the scarred man, resting my hand heavily upon his shoulder.
"Five thousand pounds," I whispered thickly, "has been offered for the information which I have here in my pocket. It is not yet complete, you understand, and because they may murder me before I obtain the rest of the facts, do you know what I am going to do with this?"
Again I tapped my tunic pocket. "Le Balafre" frowned perplexedly.
"I don't even know what you are talking about, my friend," he replied.
"I know what I am talking about," I assured him, speaking more and more huskily. "Listen, then: I am going to take all my notes to my friend, the doctor, and leave them with him, sealed—sealed, you follow me? If I do not come back for them, In a week, shall we say?—he sends them to the police. I do not profit, you think? No.morbleu! but there are some who hang!"
Emptying my third glass, I ordered a fourth and one for my companion.
He checked me.
"No more for me, thank you," he said. "I have—business to attend to.
I will wish you good-night."
"Good-night!" I cried boisterously—"good-night, friend! take heed of my good advice!"
As he went out, the barman brought me my fourth glass of cognac, staring at me doubtfully. Our conversation had been conducted in French, but the tone of my voice had attracted attention.
"Had about enough, ain't you, mate?" he said. "Your ugly pal jibbed!"
"Quite enough!" I replied, in English now of course. "But I've had a stroke of luck to-night and I feel happy. Have one with me. This is a final."
On going out into the street I looked cautiously about me, for I did not expect to reach the house of Dr. Stuart unmolested. I credited "Le Balafre" with sufficient acumen to distrust the genuineness of my intoxication, even if he was unaware of my real identity. I never make the mistake of underestimating an opponent's wit, and whilst acting on the assumption that the scarred man knew me to be forcing his hand, I recognized that whether he believed me to be drunk or sober, Gaston Mas or another, his line of conduct must be the same. He must take it for granted that I actually designed to lodge my notes with Dr. Stuart and endeavour to prevent me doing so.
I could detect no evidence of surveillance whatever and cranking the engine I mounted and drove off. More than once, as I passed along Commercial Road, I stopped and looked back. But so far as I could make out no one was following me. The greater part of my route lay along populous thoroughfares, and of this I was not sorry; but I did not relish the prospect of Thames Street, along which presently my course led me.
Leaving the city behind me, I turned into that thoroughfare, which at night is almost quite deserted, and there I pulled up. Pardieu! I was disappointed! It seemed as though my scheme had miscarried. It could not understand why I had been permitted to go unmolested, and I intended to walk back to the corner for a final survey before continuing my journey. This survey was never made.
As I stopped the cab and prepared to des............