ve off.
Helen Cumberly, ignoring the curious stares of the two remaining
taxi-men, ran out from the shelter of the corner and jumped into the
next cab, crying breathlessly:

"Follow that cab! Don't let the man in it suspect, but follow, and don't
lose sight of it!"

They were off!

Helen glanced ahead quickly, and was just in time to see Gianapolis'
cab disappear; then, leaning out of the window, she indulged in an
extravagant pantomime for the benefit of Denise Ryland, who was hurrying
after her.

"Take the next cab and follow ME!" she cried, whilst her friend raised
her hand to her ear the better to detect the words. "I cannot wait for
you or the track will be lost"...

Helen's cab swung around the corner--and she was not by any means
certain that Denise Ryland had understood her; but to have delayed
would have been fatal, and she must rely upon her friend's powers of
penetration to form a third in this singular procession.

Whilst these thoughts were passing in the pursuer's mind, Gianapolis,
lighting a cigarette, had thrown himself back in a corner of the cab and
was mentally reviewing the events of the evening--that is, those events
which were associated with Helen Cumberly. He was disappointed but
hopeful: at any rate he had suffered no definite repulse. Without doubt,
his reflections had been less roseate had he known that he was followed,
not only by two, but by THREE trackers.

He had suspected for some time now, and the suspicion had made him
uneasy, that his movements were being watched. Police surveillance
he did not fear; his arrangements were too complete, he believed,
to occasion him any ground for anxiety even though half the Criminal
Investigation Department were engaged in dogging his every movement. He
understood police methods very thoroughly, and all his experience told
him that this elusive shadow which latterly had joined him unbidden,
and of whose presence he was specially conscious whenever his steps led
toward Palace Mansions, was no police officer.

He had two theories respecting the shadow--or, more properly, one theory
which was divisible into two parts; and neither part was conducive to
peace of mind. Many years, crowded with many happenings, some of which
he would fain forget, had passed since the day when he had entered the
service of Mr. King, in Pekin. The enterprises of Mr. King were always
of a secret nature, and he well remembered the fate of a certain Burmese
gentleman of