My reports had discontinued because I had learned that I had to do
with a criminal organization of whose ramifications I knew nothing.
Therefore I took no more chances. I died.
I return to the night when Inspector Dunbar, the grim Dunbar of
Scotland Yard, came to Dr. Stuart's house. His appearance there
puzzled me. I could not fail to recognize him, for as dusk had fully
come I had descended from my top window and was posted among the
bushes of the empty house from whence I commanded a perfect view of
the doctor's door. The night was unusually chilly--there had been some
rain--and when I crept around to the lane bordering the lawn, hoping
to see or hear something of what was taking place in the study, I
found that the windows were closed and the blinds drawn.
Luck seemed to have turned against me; for that night, at dusk, when I
had gone to a local garage where I kept my motor bicycle, I had
discovered the back tire to be perfectly flat and had been forced to
contain my soul in patience whilst the man repaired a serious puncture.
The result was of course that for more than half an hour I had not had
Dr. Stuart's house under observation. And a hundred and one things
can happen in half an hour.
Had Dr. Stuart sent for the Inspector? If so, I feared that the
envelope was missing, or at any rate that he had detected Zara
el-Khala in the act of stealing it and had determined to place the
matter in the hands of the police. It was a maddening reflection.
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