In his weak condition the short run had exhausted him. His bruised throat was throbbing painfully, and he experienced some difficulty in breathing. He leaned up against the moss-grown wall, looking back into the darkness of the lane.
No one was in sight. There was no sound save the gently lapping of the water upon the bank.
He would have like to bathe his throat and to quench his feverish thirst, but a mingled hope and despair spurred him and he set off along the narrow path towards where dimly above some trees he could discern in the distance a group of red-roofed buildings. Having proceeded for a considerable distance, he stood still, listening for any sound that might guide him to the search-party—or warn him that he was followed. But he could hear nothing.
Onward he pressed, not daring to think of what the future held for him, not daring to dwell upon the memory, the maddening sweetness, of that parting kiss. His eyes grew misty, he stumbled as he walked, and became oblivious of his surrounding. His awakening was a rude one.
Suddenly a man, concealed behind a bush, sprang out upon him and bore him irresistibly to the ground!
"Not a word!" rapped his assailant, "or I'll knock you out!"
Stuart glared into the red face lowered so threateningly over his own, and:
"Sergeant Sowerby!" he gasped.
The grip upon his shoulders relaxed.
"Damn!" cried Sowerby—"if it isn't Dr. Stuart?"
"What is that!" cried another voice from the shelter of the bush. "Pardieu! say it again! … Dr. Stuart!"
And Gaston Max sprang out!
"Max!" murmured Stuart, staggering to his feet—"Max!"
"Nom d'un nom! Two dead men meet!" exclaimed Gaston Max. "But indeed"—he grasped Stuart by both hands and his voice shook with emotion—"I thank God that I see you!"
Stuart was dazed. Words failed him, and he swayed dizzily.
"I thought you were murdered," said Max, still grasping his hand, "and I perceive that you had made the same mistake about me! Do you know what saved me, my friend, from the consequences of that frightful blow? It was the bandage of 'Le Balafre'!"
"You must possess a skull like a negro's!" said Stuart feebly.
"I believe I have a skull like a baboon!" returned Max, laughing with joyous excitement. "And you, doctor, you must possess a steel wind-pipe; for flesh and blood could never have survived the pressure of that horrible pigtail. You will rejoice to learn that Miguel was arrested on the Dover boat-train this morning and Ah-Fang-Fu at Tilbury Dock some four hours ago. So we are both avenged! But we waste time!"
He unscrewed a flask and handed it to Stuart.
"A terrible experience has befallen you," he said. "But tell me—do you know where it is—the lair of 'The Scorpion'?"
"I do!" replied Stuart, having taken a welcome draught from the flask. "Where is Dunbar? We must carefully surround the place or he will elude us."
"Ah! as he eluded us at 'The Pidgin House'!" cried Max. "Do you know what happened? They had a motorboat in the very cellar of that warren. At high tide they could creep out into the cutting, drawing their craft along from pile to pile, and reach the open river at a point fifty yards above the house! In the damnable darkness they escaped. But we have two of them."
"It was all my fault," said Sowerby guiltily. "I missed my spring when I went for the Chinaman who came out first, and he gave one yell. The old fox in the shop heard it and the fat was in the fire."
"You didn't miss your spring at me!" retort Stuart ruefully.
"No," agreed Sowerby. "I didn't mean to miss a second time!"
"What's all this row," came a gruff voice.
"Ah! Inspector Dunbar!" said Max.
Dunbar walked up the path, followed by a number of men. At first he did not observe Stuart, and:
"You'll be waking all the neighborhood," he said. "It's the next big house, Sowerby, the one we thought, surrounded by the brick wall. There's no doubt, I think … Why!"
He had seen Stuart, and he sprang forward with outstretched hand.
"Thank God!" he cried, disregarding his own counsel about creating a disturbance. "This is fine! Eh, man! but I'm glad to see you!"
"And I am glad to be here!" Stuart assured him.
They shook hands warmly.
"You have read my statement, of course?" asked Stuart.
"I have," replied the Inspector, and gave him a swift glance of the tawny eyes. "And considering that you've nearly been strangled, I'll forgive you! But I wish we'd known about this house——"
"Ah! Inspector," interrupted Gaston Max, "but you have never seen Zara el-Khala! I have seen her—and I forgive him, also!"
Stuart continued rapidly:
"We have little time to waste. There are only three people in the house, so far as I am aware: Miska—known to you, M. Max, as Zara el-Khala—the Hindu, Chunda Lal, and—Fo-Hi——"
"Ah!" cried Max—"'The Scorpion.' Chunda Lal, for some obscure personal reason, not entirely unconnected with Miska, enabled me to make my escape in order that I might lead you to the house. Therefore we may look upon Chunda Lal, as well as Miska, in the light of an accomplice——"
"Eh, bien! a spy in the camp! This is where we see how fatal to the success of any enterprise, criminal or otherwise, is the presence of a pretty woman! Proceed, my friend!"
"There are three entrances to the apartment in which Fo-Hi apparently spends the greater part of his time. Two of these I know, although I am unaware where one of them leads to. But the third, of which he alone holds the key, communicates with a tunnel leading to the river bank, where a motorboat is concealed."
"Ah, that motor-boat!" cried Max. "He travels at night, you understand——"
"Always, I am told."
"Yes, always. Therefore, once he is out on the river, he is moderately secure between the first lock and the Nore! When a police patrol is near he can shut off his engine and lie under the bank. Last night he crept away from us in that fashion. Tonight is not so dark, and the River Police are watching all the way down."
"Furthermore," replied Stuart, "Chunda Lal, who acts as engineer, has it in his power to prevent Fo-Hi's escape by that route! But we must count upon the possibility of his attempting to leave by water. Therefore, in disposing your forces, place a certain number of men along the bank and below the house. Is there a River Police boat near?"
"Not nearer than Putney Bridge," answered Dunbar. "We shall have to try and block that exit."
"There's no time to waste," continued Stuart excitedly—"and I have a very particular request to make: that you will take Fo-Hi alive."
"But of course," said Gaston Max, "if it is humanly possible."
Stuart repressed a groan; for even so he had little hope of inducing the awful veiled man to give back life to the woman who would have been instrumental in bringing him to the scaffold … and no compromise was possible!
"If you will muster your men, Inspector," he said, "I will lead you to the spot. Once we have affected an entrance we must proceed with dispatch. He has alarm-bells connected with every possible point of entry."
"Lead on, my friend," cried Gaston Max. "I perceive that time is precious."
Chapter 6 "Jey Bhowani!"
As the door closed upon Chunda Lal, Miska stepped back from it and stood, unconsciously, in a curiously rigid and statuesque attitude, her arms pressed to her sides and her hands directed outward. It was the physical expression of an intense mental effort to gain control of herself. Her heart was leaping wildly in her breast—for the future that had held only horror and a living tomb, now opened out sweetly before her. She had only to ply her native wiles for a few precious moments … and someone would have her in his arms, to hold her safe from harm! If the will of the awful Chinaman threatened to swamp her individuality, then—there was Chunda Lal!