By some means wholly unknown to me, the Young Manchus must have discovered, or guessed, that in leaving Lester's widow out of their reckoning they had lost a promising clew.

Be that as it may, they followed her to London, and, by a singular fatality, I was the first to know of it.

Last Monday, while driving home from the city, my car was held up in Piccadilly for a few seconds.

Looking idly out at the passing crowd, I saw a Chinaman in European clothes.

He was waiting to cross the road, so I was able to scrutinize him carefully, and, owing to a scar on the left side of his face, recognized him.