by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER III
DISAPPEARANCE OF CHARLES MALET
Knowing, and I knew it well, that people of "The Scorpion" werewatching, I do not pretend that I felt at my ease as I drove around tothe empty house in which I garaged my cab. My inquiry had entered uponanother stage, and Charles Malet was about to disappear from the case.I was well aware that if he failed in his vigilance for a single momenthe might well disappear from the world!
The path which led to the stables was overgrown with weeds and flankedby ragged bushes; weeds and grass sprouted between the stones pavingthe little yard, also, although they were withered to a great extentby the petrol recently spilled there. Having run the cab into the yard,I alighted and looked around the deserted grounds, mysterious in themoonlight. Company would have been welcome, but excepting a constablewho had stopped and chatted with me on one or two evenings I alwayshad the stables to myself at night.
I determined to run the cab into the stable and lock it up withoutdelay, for it was palpably dangerous in the circumstances to remainlonger than necessary in that lonely spot. Hurriedly I began to putout the lamps. I unlocked the stable doors and stood looking all aboutme again. I was dreading the ordeal of driving the cab those last tenyards into the garage, for whilst I had my back to the wilderness ofbushes it would be an easy matter for anyone in hiding there to comeup behind me.
Nevertheless, it had to be done. Seating myself at the wheel I droveinto the narrow building, stopped the engine and peered cautiouslyaround toward the bright square formed by the open doors. Nothing wasto be seen. No shadow moved.
A magazine pistol held in my hand, I crept, step by step, along thewall until I stood just within the opening. There I stopped.
I could hear a sound of quick breathing! There was someone waitingoutside!
Dropping quietly down upon the pavement, I slowly protruded my headaround the angle of the brick wall at a point not four inches abovethe ground. I knew that whoever waited would have his eyes fixed uponthe doorway at the level of a man's head.
Close to the wall, a pistol in his left hand and an upraisedstand-bag in his right, stood "Le Balafre!" His eyes gleamed savagelyin the light of the moon and his teeth were bared in that fearfulanimal snarl. But he had not seen me.
Inch by inch I thrust my pistol forward, the barrel raised sharply. Icould not be sure of my aim, of course, nor had I time to judge itcarefully.
I fired.
The bullet was meant for his right wrist, but it struck him in thefleshy part of his arm. Uttering a ferocious cry he leapt back,dropped his pistol--and perceiving me as I sprang to my feet, lashedat my head with the sand-bag. I raised my left arm to guard my skulland sustained the full force of the blow upon it.
I staggered back against the wall, and my own pistol was knocked frommy grasp. My left arm was temporarily useless and the man of the scarwas deprived of the use of his right. _Pardieu!_ I had the betterchance!
He hurled himself upon me.
Instantly he recovered the advantage, for he grasped me by the throatwith his left hand--and, _nom d'un nom!_ what a grip he had! Flatagainst the wall he held me, and began, his teeth bared in thatfearful grin, to crush the life from me.
To such an attack there was only one counter. I kicked him savagely--and that death-grip relaxed. I writhed, twisted--and was free! As Iregained my freedom I struck up at him, and by great good fortunecaught him upon the point of the jaw. He staggered. I struck him overthe heart, and he fell I pounced upon him, exulting, for he had soughtmy life and I knew no pity.
Yet I had not thought so strong a man would choke so easily, and forsome moments I stood looking down at him, believing that he sought totrick me. But it was not so. His affair was finished.
I listened. The situation in which I found myself was full ofdifficulty. An owl screeched somewhere in the trees, but nothing elsestirred. The sound of the shot had not attracted attention, apparently.I stooped and examined the garments of the man who lay at my feet.
He carried a travel coupon to Paris bearing that day's date, togetherwith some other papers, but, although I searched all his pockets, Icould find nothing of real interest, until in an inside pocket of hiscoat I felt some hard, irregularly shaped object. I withdrew it, andin the moonlight it lay glittering in my palm ... a _golden scorpion!_
It had apparently been broken in the struggle. The tail was missing,nor could I find it: but I must confess that I did not prolong thesearch.
Some chance effect produced by the shadow of the moonlight, and thepresence of that recently purchased ticket, gave me the idea uponwhich without delay I proceeded to act. Satisfying myself that therewas no mark upon any of his garments by which the man could beidentified, I unlocked from my wrist an identification disk which Ihabitually wore there, and locked it upon the wrist of the man withthe scar!
Clearly, I argued, he had been detailed to dispatch me and then toleave at once for France. I would make it appear that he had succeeded.
Behold me, ten minutes later, driving slowly along a part of theThames Embankment which I chanced to remember, a gruesome passengerriding behind me in the cab. I was reflecting as I kept a sharp look-outfor a spot which I had noted one day during my travels, how easily onecould commit murder in London, when a constable ran out andintercepted me!
_Mon Deiu!_ how my heart leapt!
"I'll trouble you for your name and number, my lad," he said.
"What for?" I asked, and remembering a rare fragment of idiom: "What'sup with you?" I added.
"Your lamp's out!" he cried, "that's what's up with me!"
"Oh," said I, climbing from my seat--"very well. I'm sorry. I didn'tknow. But here is my license."
I handed him the little booklet and began to light my lamps, cursingmyself for a dreadful artist because I had forgotten to do so.
"All right," he replied, and handed it back to me. "But how the devilyou've managed to get _all_ your lamps out, I can't imagine!"
"This is my first job since dusk," I explained hurrying around to thetail-light. "And _he_ don't say much!" remarked the constable.
I replaced my matches in my pocket and returned to the front of thecab, making a gesture as of one raising a glass to his lips andjerking my thumb across my shoulder in the direction of my unseen fare.
"Oh, that's it!" said the constable, and moved off.
Never in my whole career have I been so glad to see the back of anyman!
I drove on slowly. The point for which I was making was only somethree hundred yards further along, but I had noted that the constablehad walked off in the opposite direction. Therefore, arriving at mydestination--a vacant wharf open to the road--I pulled up and listened.
Only the wash of the tide upon the piles of the wharf was audible, forthe night was now far advanced.
I opened the door of the cab and dragged out "Le Balafre." Right andleft I peered, truly like a stage villain, and then hauled myunpleasant burden along the irregularly paved path and on to thelittle wharf. Out in mid-stream a Thames Police patrol was passing,and I stood for a moment until the creak of the oars grew dim.
Then: there was a dull splash far below ... and silence again.
Gaston Max had been consigned to a watery grave!
Returning again to the garage, I wondered very much who he had been,this one, "Le Balafre." Could it be that he was "The Scorpion"? Icould not tell, but I had hopes very shortly of finding out. I hadsettled up my affairs with my landlady and had removed from myapartments all papers and other effects. In the garage I had placeda good suit of clothes and other necessities, and by telephone I hadsecured a room at a West-End hotel.
The cab returned to the stable, I locked the door, and by the lightof one of the lamps, shaved off my beard and moustache. My uniformand cap I hung up on the hook where I usually left them after workinghours, and changed into the suit which I had placed there in readiness.I next destroyed all evidences of identity and left the place in aneat condition. I extinguished the lamp, went out and locked
the doorbehind me, and carrying a travelling-grip and a cane I set off for mynew hotel.
Charles Malet had disappeared!
