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. "Double fare if you
are quick!"

It would be a close race. But I counted on the aid of that Fate which
dogs the steps of wrong-doers! My cab was off first and the driver had
every reason for hurrying. From the moment that we turned out into the
Strand 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 corner
which commanded a view of the street. I entered this box and waited.
It was important that I should remain invisible. Unless my bearded
friend had been unusually fortunate he could not well have arrived
before me.

As it chanced I had nearly six minutes to wait. Then, not ten yards
away, I saw "Le Balafre" arrive and dismiss the cabman outside the
station.

There was nothing furtive in his manner; he was evidently satisfied
that no one pursued him; and he stood in the station entrance almost
outside 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 the
pavement. It was driven by a brown-faced chauffeur whose nationality
I found difficulty in placing, for he wore large goggles. But before
I could determine upon my plan of action, "Le Balafre" crossed the
pavement and entered the car--and the car glided smoothly away, going
East. A passing lorry obstructed my view and I even fai