d characterized the fate of the Grand Duke,
of Van Rembold and the others, that I could not for a moment believe
them to be due to mere coincidence. Acting upon my advice Paris
advised Scotland Yard to press for a _post mortem_ examination of the
body, but the influence of Sir Frank's family was exercised to prevent
this being carried out--and exercised successfully.

Meanwhile, I hovered around the houses, flats, clubs and offices of
everyone who had been associated with the late surgeon, noting to what
addresses they directed me to drive and who lived at those address. In
this way I obtained evidence sufficient to secure three judicial
separations, but not a single clue leading to "The Scorpion"! No
matter.

At every available opportunity I haunted the East-End streets, hoping
for a glimpse of the big car and the brown-skinned chauffeur or of my
scarred man from Paris. I frequented all sorts of public bars and
eating-houses used by foreign and Asiatics. By day and by night I
roamed about the dismal thoroughfares of that depressing district,
usually with my flag down to imply that I was engaged.

Such diligence never goes long unrewarded. One evening, having
discharged a passenger, a mercantile officer, at the East India Docks,
as I was drifting, watchfully, back through Limehouse, I saw a large
car pull up just ahead of me in the dark. A man got out and the car
was driven off.

Two courses presented themselves. I was not sure that this was the
car for which I sought, but it strangely resembled it. Should I follow
the car or the man? A rapid decision was called for. I followed the man.

That I had not been mistaken in the identity of the car shortly
appeared. The man took out a cigar and standing on the corner opposite
the Town Hall, lighted it. I was close to him at the time, and by the
light of the match, which he sheltered with his hands, I saw the
scarred and bearded face! _Triomphe!_ it was he!

Having lighted his cigar, he crossed the road and entered the saloon
of a neighbourhood public-house. Locking my cab I, also, entered that
saloon. I ordered a glass of bitter beer and glanced around at the
object of my interest. He had obtained a glass of brandy and was
contorting his hideous face as he sipped the beverage. I laughed.

"Have they tried to poison you, mister!" I said.

"Ah,_pardieu!_ poison--yes!" he replied.

"You want to have it out of a bottle," I continued confidentially--
"Martell's Three St