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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 260 pages of information about The Yellow Claw.

“I’ll arrest him in the morning,” said Sowerby, writing furiously in his notebook.

“Nom d’un p’tit bonhomme!  M. Sowerby, you will do nothing of that foolish description, my dear friend,” said Max; and Dunbar glared at the unfortunate sergeant.  “Nothing whatever must be done to arouse suspicion between now and the moment of the raid.  You must be circumspect—­ah, morbleu! so circumspect.  By all means trace this Mr. Gianapolis; yes.  But do not let him suspect that he is being traced"...

XXXV

TRACKER TRACKED

Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland peered from the window of the former’s room into the dusk of the Square, until their eyes ached with the strain of an exercise so unnatural.

“I tell you,” said Denise with emphasis, “that... sooner or later... he will come prowling... around.  The mere fact that he did not appear... last night... counts for nothing.  His own crooked... plans no doubt detain him... very often... at night.”

Helen sighed wearily.  Denise Ryland’s scheme was extremely distasteful to her, but whenever she thought of the pathetic eyes of Leroux she found new determination.  Several times she had essayed to analyze the motives which actuated her; always she feared to pursue such inquiries beyond a certain point.  Now that she was beginning to share her friend’s views upon the matter, all social plans sank into insignificance, and she lived only in the hope of again meeting Gianapolis, of tracing out the opium group, and of finding Mrs. Leroux.  In what state did she hope and expect to find her?  This was a double question which kept her wakeful through the dreary watches of the night....

“Look!”

Denise Ryland grasped her by the arm, pointing out into the darkened Square.  A furtive figure crossed from the northeast corner into the shade of some trees and might be vaguely detected coming nearer and nearer.

“There he is!” whispered Denise Ryland, excitedly; “I told you he couldn’t... keep away.  I know that kind of brute.  There is nobody at home, so listen:  I will watch... from the drawing-room, and you... light up here and move about... as if preparing to go out.”

Helen, aware that she was flushed with excitement, fell in with the proposal readily; and having switched on the lights in her room and put on her hat so that her moving shadow was thrown upon the casement curtain, she turned out the light again and ran to rejoin her friend.  She found the latter peering eagerly from the window of the drawing-room.

“He thinks you are coming out!” gasped Denise.  “He has slipped... around the corner.  He will pretend to be... passing... this way... the cross-eyed... hypocrite.  Do you feel capable ... of the task?”

“Quite,” Helen declared, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.  “You will follow us as arranged; for heaven’s sake, don’t lose us!”

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