by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER IV
THE FIGHT IN THE CAFE
New Scotland Yard had been advised that any reference to a scorpion,in whatever form it occurred, should be noted and followed up, butnothing had resulted and as a matter of fact I was not surprised inthe least. All that I had learned--and this was little enough--I hadlearned more or less by accident. But I came to the conclusion that avisit to London might be advisable.
I had caused a watch to be kept upon the man Miguel, whoseestablishment seemed to be a recognized resort of shady characters.I had no absolute proof, remember, that he knew anything of theprivate affairs of the Hindu, and no further reference to a scorpionhad been made by anyone using the cafe telephone. Nevertheless Idetermined to give him a courtesy call before leaving for London ... and to this determination I cannot doubt that once again I was ledby providence.
Attired in a manner calculated to enable me to pass unnoticed amongthe patrons of the establishment, I entered the place and orderedcognac. Miguel having placed it before me, I lighted a cigarette andsurveyed my surroundings.
Eight or nine men were in the cafe, and two women. Four of the menwere playing cards at a corner table, and the others were distributedabout the place, drinking and smoking. The women, who were flashilydressed but who belonged to that order of society which breeds theApache, were deep in conversation with a handsome Algerian. Irecognized only one face in the cafe--that of a dangerous character,Jean Sach, who had narrowly escaped the electric chair in the UnitedStates and who was well known to the Bureau. He was smiling at one ofthe two women--the woman to whom the Algerian seemed to be moreparticularly addressing himself.
Another there was in the cafe who interested me as a student ofphysiognomy--a dark, bearded man, one of the card-players. His facewas disfigured by a purple scar extending from his brow to the leftcorner of his mouth, which it had drawn up into a permanent snarl,so that he resembled an enraged and dangerous wild animal. MentallyI classified this person as "Le Balafre."
I had just made up my mind to depart when the man Sach arose, crossedthe cafe and seated himself insolently between the Algerian and thewoman to whom the latter was talking. Turning his back upon the brownman, he addressed some remark to the woman, at the same time leeringin her face.
Women of this class are difficult, you understand? Sach received fromthe lady a violent blow upon the face which rolled him on the floor!As he fell, the Algerian sprang up and drew a knife. Sach rolled away from him and also reached for the knife which he carried in ahip-pocket.
Before he could draw it, Miguel, the quadroon proprietor, threwhimself upon him and tried to pitch him into the street. But Sach,although a small man, was both agile and ferocious. He twisted out ofthe grasp of the huge quadroon and turned, raising the knife. As hedid so, the Algerian deftly kicked it from his grasp and left Sach toface Miguel unarmed. Screaming with rage, he sprang at Miguel's throat,and the tow fell writhing upon the floor.
There could only be one end to such a struggle, of course, as theAlgerian recognized by replacing his knife in his pocket and resuminghis seat. Miguel obtained a firm hold upon Sacah and raised him bodilyabove his head, as one has seen a professional weight-lifter raise aheavy dumb-bell. Thus he carried him, kicking and foaming at the mouthwith passion, to the open door. From the step he threw him into themiddle of the street.
At this moment I observed something glittering upon the floor close tothe chair occupied by the Algerian. Standing up--for I had determinedto depart--I crossed in that direction, stooped and picked up thisobject which glittered. As my fingers touched it, so did my heart givea great leap.
The object was a _golden scorpion!_
Forgetful of my dangerous surroundings I stood looking at the goldenornament in my hand ... when suddenly and violently it was snatchedfrom me! The Algerian, his brown face convulsed with rage,confronted me.
"Where did you find that charm?" he cried. "It belongs to me."
"Very well," I replied--"you have it."
He glared at me with a ferocity which the incident scarcely seemed tomerit and exchanged a significant glance with someone who hadapproached and who now stood behind me. Turning, I met a second blackgaze--that of the quadroon who having restored order had returned fromthe cafe door and now stood regarding me. "Did you find it on thefloor?" asked Miguel suspiciously.
"I did."
He turned to the Algerian.
"It fell when you kicked the knife from the hand of that pig," hesaid. "You should be more careful."
Again they exchanged significant glances, but the Algerian resumedhis seat and Miguel went behind the counter. I left the cafeconscious of the fact that black looks pursued me.
The night was very dark, and as I came out on to the pavement someonetouched me on the arm. I turned in a flash.
"Walk on, friend," said the voice of Jean Sach. "What was it that youpicked up from the floor?"
"A golden scorpion," I answered quickly.
"Ah!" he whispered--"I thought so! It is enough. They shall pay forwhat they have done to me--those two. Hurry, friend, as I do."
Before I could say another word or strive to detain him, he turnedand ran off along a narrow courtway which at this point branched fromthe street.
I stood for a moment, nonplussed, staring after him. By good fortuneI had learned more in ten minutes than by the exercise of all myingenuity and the resources of the Service I could have learned inten months! _Par al barbe du prophete_ the Kismet which dogs thefootsteps of malefactors assisted me!
Recollecting the advice of Jean Sach, I set off at a brisk pace alongthe street, which was dark and deserted and which passed through adistrict marked red on the Paris crimes-map. Arriving at the corner,above which projected a lamp, I paused and glanced back into thedarkness. I could see no one, but I thought I could detect the soundof stealthy footsteps following me.
The suspicion was enough. I quickened my pace, anxious to reach thecrowded boulevard upon which this second street opened. I reached itunmolested, but intending to throw any pursuer off the track, I dodgedand doubled repeatedly on the way to my flat and arrived there aboutmidnight, convinced that I had eluded pursuit--if indeed I had beenpursued.
All my arrangements were made for leaving Paris, and now I telephonedto the assistant on duty in my office, instructing him to take certainsteps in regard to the proprietor of the cafe and the Algerian and tofind the hiding-place of the man Jean-Sach. I counted it more thanever important that I should go to London at once.
In this belief I was confirmed at the very moment that I boarded theChannel steamer at Boulogne: for as I stepped upon the deck I foundmyself face to face with a man who was leaning upon the rail andapparently watching the passengers coming on board. He was a man ofheavy build, dark and bearded, and his face was strangely familiar.
Turning, as I lighted a cigarette, I glanced back at him in order toobtain a view of his profile. I knew him instantly--for now the scarwas visible. It was "Le Balafre" who had been playing cards inMiguel's cafe on the previous night!
I have sometimes been criticised, especially by my English confreres,for my faith in disguise. I have been told that no disguise isimpenetrable to the trained eye. I reply that there are many disguisesbut few trained eyes! To my faith in disguise I owed the knowledgethat a golden scorpion was the token of some sort of gang, society, orcriminal group, and to this same faith which an English inspector ofpolice once assured me to be a misplaced one I owed, on boarding thesteamer, my escape from detection by this big bearded fellow who waspossibly looking out for me!
Yet, I began to wonder if after all I had escaped the shadowy pursuerwhose presence I had suspected in the dark street outside the cafe orif he had tracked me and learned my real identity. In any event, theroles were about to be reversed! "Le Balafre" at Folkestone took a seatin a third-class carriage of the London train. I took one in the nextcompartment.
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 carriedand walked out into the station yard. I walked out also.
"Le Balafre" accosted a cabman; and as he did so I passed closebehind 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 noteapparently. I saw the cabman nod. Without an instant's delay I rushedup to another cabman who had just discharged a passenger.
"To Bow Road Station East!" I said to the man. "Double fare if youare quick!"
It would be a close race. But I counted on the aid of that Fate whichdogs the steps of wrong-doers! My cab was off first and the driver hadevery reason for hurrying. From the moment that we turned out into theStrand until we arrived at our destination I saw no more of"Le Balafre." My extensive baggage I must hope to recover later.
At Bow Road Station I discovered a telephone box in a dark cornerwhich commanded a view of the street. I entered this box and waited.It was important that I should remain invisible. Unless my beardedfriend had been unusually fortunate he could not well have arrivedbefore me.
As it chanced I had nearly six minutes to wait. Then, not ten yardsaway, I saw "Le Balafre" arrive and dismiss the cabman outside thestation.
There was nothing furtive in his manner; he was evidently satisfiedthat no one pursued him; and he stood in the station entrance almostoutside my box and lighted a cigar!
Placing his bag upon the floor, he lingered, looking to left and right,when suddenly a big closed car painted dull yellow drew up beside thepavement. It was driven by a brown-faced chauffeur whose nationalityI found difficulty in placing, for he wore large goggles. But beforeI could determine upon my plan of action, "Le Balafre" crossed thepavement and entered the car--and the car glided smoothly away, goingEast. A passing lorry obstructed my view and I even failed to obtaina glimpse of the number on the plate.
But I had seen something which had repaid me for my trouble. As theman of the scar had walked up to the car, had exhibited to thebrown-skinned chauffeur some object which he held in the palm of hishand ... an object which glittered like gold!