was I! For if Zara el-Khala had secured the envelope I
had missed my only chance.

However, _pardieu!_ I have said that despair is not permitted by the
Bureau. I rode home to my hotel, deep in reflection. Whether the girl
had the envelope or not, at least she had escaped detection by the
doctor; therefore if she had failed she would try again. I could sleep
in peace until the morrow.

Of the following day, which I spent as I had spent the preceding one,
I have nothing to record. At about the same time in the evening the
yellow car again rolled into view, and on this occasion I devoted all
my attention to the dark-skinned chauffeur, upon whom I directed my
glasses.

As the girl alighted and spoke to him for a moment, he raised the
goggles which habitually he wore and I saw his face. A theory which I
had formed on the previous night proved correct. The chauffeur was the
Hindu, Chunda Lal! As Zara el-Khala walked up the steps he backed
the car into the narrow lane and I watched him constantly. Yet, watch
as closely as I might, I could not see where he concealed himself in
order to command a view of the road.

On this occasion, as I know, Dr. Stuart was at home. Nevertheless, the
girl stayed for close upon half an hour, and I began to wonder if some
new move had been planned. Suddenly the door opened and she came out.

I crept through the bushes to my bicycle and wheeled it on to the
drive. I saw the car start; but Madame Fortune being in playful mood,
my own engine refused to start at all, and when ten minutes later I
at last aroused a spark of life in the torpid machine I knew that
pursuit would be futile.

Since this record is intended for the guidance of those who take up
the quest of "The Scorpion" either in co-operation with myself or,
in the event of my failure, alone, it would be profitless for me to
record my disasters. Very well, I had one success. One night I pursued
the yellow car from Dr. Stuart's house to the end of Limehouse
Causeway without once losing sight of it.

A string of lorries form the docks, drawn by a traction engine, checked
me at the corner for a time, although the yellow car passed. But I
raced furiously on and by great good luck overtook it near the Dock
Station. From thence onward pursuing a strangely tortuous route, I
kept it in sight to Canning Town, when it turned into a public garage.
I followed--to purchase petrol.

Chunda Lal was talking to the man in charge; he had not yet le