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.
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