I have been told that no disguise is
impenetrable to the trained eye. I reply that there are many disguises
but few trained eyes! To my faith in disguise I owed the knowledge
that a golden scorpion was the token of some sort of gang, society, or
criminal group, and to this same faith which an English inspector of
police once assured me to be a misplaced one I owed, on boarding the
steamer, my escape from detection by this big bearded fellow who was
possibly looking out for me!
Yet, I began to wonder if after all I had escaped the shadowy pursuer
whose presence I had suspected in the dark street outside the cafe or
if he had tracked me and learned my real identity. In any event, the
roles were about to be reversed! "Le Balafre" at Folkestone took a seat
in a third-class carriage of the London train. I took one in the next
compartment.
Arrived at Charing Cross, he stood for a time in the booking-hall,
glanced at his watch, and then took up the handbag which he carried
and walked out into the station yard. I walked out also.
"Le Balafre" accosted a cabman; and as he did so I passed close
behind him and overheard a part of the conversation.
"... Bow Road Station East! It's too far. What?"
I glanced back. The bearded man was holding up a note--a pound note
apparently. I saw the cabman nod. Without an instant's delay I rushed
up to another cabman who had just discharged a passenger.
"To Bow Road Station East!" I said to the man.
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