.. to the spot at which I had abandoned
my motor bicycle. In little more than half an hour I had traversed
London, and was standing in the shadow of that high, blank wall to
which I have referred as facing a row of wooden houses in a certain
street adjoining Limehouse Causeway.
You perceive my plan? I was practically sure of the street; all I had
to learn was which house sheltered "The Scorpion"!
I had already suspected that this night was to be for me an unlucky
night. _Nom d'un p'tit bon-homme!_ it was so. Until an hour before dawn
I crouched under that wall and saw no living thing except a very old
Chinaman who came out of one of the houses and walked slowly away.
The other houses appeared to be empty. No vehicle of any kind passed
that way all night.
Turning over in my mind the details of this most perplexing case, it
became evident to me that the advantages of working alone were now
outweighed by the disadvantages. The affair had reached a stage at
which ordinary police methods should be put into operation. I had
collected some of the threads; the next thing was for Scotland Yard
to weave these together whilst I sought for more.
I determined to remain dead. It would afford me greater freedom of
action. The disappearance of "Le Balafre" which must by this time have
been noted by his associates, might possibly lead to a suspicion that the
dead man was _not_ Gaston Max; but providing no member of "The Scorpion"
group obtained access to the body I failed to see how this suspicion
could be confirmed.
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