indu, and no further reference to a scorpion
had been made by anyone using the cafe telephone. Nevertheless I
determined to give him a courtesy call before leaving for London ...
and to this determination I cannot doubt that once again I was led
by providence.

Attired in a manner calculated to enable me to pass unnoticed among
the patrons of the establishment, I entered the place and ordered
cognac. Miguel having placed it before me, I lighted a cigarette and
surveyed my surroundings.

Eight or nine men were in the cafe, and two women. Four of the men
were playing cards at a corner table, and the others were distributed
about the place, drinking and smoking. The women, who were flashily
dressed but who belonged to that order of society which breeds the
Apache, were deep in conversation with a handsome Algerian. I
recognized only one face in the cafe--that of a dangerous character,
Jean Sach, who had narrowly escaped the electric chair in the United
States and who was well known to the Bureau. He was smiling at one of
the two women--the woman to whom the Algerian seemed to be more
particularly addressing himself.

Another there was in the cafe who interested me as a student of
physiognomy--a dark, bearded man, one of the card-players. His face
was disfigured by a purple scar extending from his brow to the left
corner of his mouth, which it had drawn up into a permanent snarl,
so that he resembled an enraged and dangerous wild animal. Mentally
I classified this person as "Le Balafre."

I had just made up my mind to depart when the man Sach arose, crossed
the cafe and seated himself insolently between the Algerian and the
woman to whom the latter was talking. Turning his back upon the brown
man, he addressed some remark to the woman, at the same time leering
in her face.

Women of this class are difficult, you understand? Sach received from
the 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 a
hip-pocket.

Before he could draw it, Miguel, the quadroon proprietor, threw
himself upon him and tried to pitch him into the street. But Sach,
although a small man, was both agile and ferocious. He twisted out of
the grasp of the huge quadroon and turned, raising the knife. As he
did so, the Algerian deftly kicked it from his grasp and left Sach to
face Miguel unarmed. Screami