The Golden Scorpion E-Book

Sax Rohmer

• Herausgeber: neobooks
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 330

Beschreibung

Rohmer also wrote several novels of supernatural horror, including Brood of the Witch-Queen, described by Adrian as "Rohmer's masterpiece".Rohmer was very poor at managing his wealth, however, and made several disastrous business decisions that hampered him throughout his career.

Leseprobe

Sax Rohmer

The Golden Scorpion

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Inhaltsverzeichnis

Titel

THE SHADOW OF A COWL

THE PIBROCH OF THE M'GREGORS

THE SCORPION'S TAIL

MADEMOISELLE DORIAN

THE SEALED ENVELOPE

THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER

CONTENTS OF THE SEALED ENVELOPE

THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER'S THEORY

THE CHINESE COIN

"CLOSE YOUR SHUTTERS AT NIGHT"

THE BLUE RAY

THE DANCER OF MONTMARTRE ZARA EL-KHALA

CONCERNING THE GRAND DUKE

A STRANGE QUESTION

THE FIGHT IN THE CAFE

"LE BALAFRE" I BECOME CHARLES MALET

BAITING THE TRAP

DISAPPEARANCE OF CHARLES MALET

I MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

CONCLUSION OF STATEMENT

AT THE HOUSE OF AH-FANG-FU THE BRAIN-THIEVES

THE RED CIRCLE

MISKA'S STORY

MISKA'S STORY _(concluded)_

THE HEART OF CHUNDA LAL

THE MAN WITH THE SCAR

IN THE OPIUM DEN

THE GREEN-EYED JOSS

THE LAIR OF THE SCORPION THE SUBLIME ORDER

THE LIVING DEATH

THE FIFTH SECRET OF RACHE CHURAN

THE GUILE OF THE EAST

WHAT HAPPENED TO STUART

"JEY BHOWANI!"

THE WAY OF A SCORPION

Impressum neobooks

THE SHADOW OF A COWL

The Golden Scorpion

Author: Sax Rohmer

Keppel Stuart, M.D., F. R. S., awoke with a start and discovered

himself to be bathed in cold perspiration. The moonlight shone in at

his window, but did not touch the bed, therefore his awakening could

not be due to this cause. He lay for some time listening for any

unfamiliar noise which might account for the sudden disturbance of

his usually sound slumbers. In the house below nothing stirred. His

windows were widely open and he could detect that vague drumming

which is characteristic of midnight London; sometimes, too, the

clashing of buffers upon some siding of the Brighton railway where

shunting was in progress and occasional siren notes from the Thames.

Otherwise--nothing.

He glanced at the luminous disk of his watch. The hour was half-past

two. Dawn was not far off. The night seemed to have become almost

intolerably hot, and to this heat Stuart felt disposed to ascribe

both his awakening and also a feeling of uncomfortable tension of

which he now became aware. He continued to listen, and, listening

and hearing nothing, recognized with anger that he was frightened.

A sense of some presence oppressed him. Someone or something evil

was near him--perhaps in the room, veiled by the shadows. This

uncanny sensation grew more and more marked.

Stuart sat up in bed, slowly and cautiously, looking all about him.

He remembered to have awakened once thus in India--and to have found

a great cobra coiled at his feet. His inspection revealed the

presence of nothing unfamiliar, and he stepped out on to the floor.

A faint clicking sound reached his ears. He stood quite still. The

clicking was repeated.

"There is someone downstairs in my study!" muttered Stuart.

He became aware that the fear which held him was such that unless he

acted and acted swiftly he should become incapable of action, but he

remembered that whereas the moonlight poured into the bedroom, the

staircase would be in complete darkness. He walked barefooted across

to the dressing-table and took up an electric torch which lay there.

He had not used it for some time, and he pressed the button to learn

if the torch was charged. A beam of white light shone out across the

room, and at the same instant came another sound.

If it came from below or above, from the adjoining room or from

Outside in the road, Stuart knew not. But following hard upon the

mysterious disturbance which had aroused him it seemed to pour ice

into his veins, it added the complementary touch to his panic. For

it was a kind of low wail--a ghostly minor wail in falling

cadences--unlike any sound he had heard. It was so excessively

horrible that it produced a curious effect.

Discovering from the dancing of the torch-ray that his hand was

trembling, Stuart concluded that he had awakened from a nightmare

and that this fiendish wailing was no more than an unusually delayed

aftermath of the imaginary horrors which had bathed him in cold

perspiration.

He walked resolutely to the door, threw it open and cast the beam of

light on to the staircase. Softly he began to descend. Before the

study door he paused. There was no sound. He threw open the door,

directing the torch-ray into the room.

Cutting a white lane through the blackness, it shone fully upon his

writing-table, which was a rather fine Jacobean piece having a sort

of quaint bureau superstructure containing cabinets and drawers. He

could detect nothing unusual in the appearance of the littered table.

A tobacco jar stood there, a pipe resting in the lid. Papers and

books were scattered untidily as he had left them, surrounding a tray

full of pipe and cigarette ash. Then, suddenly, he saw something else.

One of the bureau drawers was half opened.

Stuart stood quite still, staring at the table. There was no sound in

the room. He crossed slowly, moving the light from right to left. His

papers had been overhauled methodically. The drawers had been

replaced, but he felt assured that all had been examined. The light

switch was immediately beside the outer door, and Stuart walked

over to it and switched on both lamps. Turning, he surveyed the

brilliantly illuminated room. Save for himself, it was empty. He

looked out into the hallway again. There was no one there. No sound

broke the stillness. But that consciousness of some near presence

asserted itself persistently and uncannily.

"My nerves are out of order!" he muttered. "No one has touched my

papers. I must have left the drawer open myself."

He switched off the light and walked across to the door. He had

actually passed out intending to return to his room, when he became

aware of a slight draught. He stopped.

Someone or something, evil and watchful, seemed to be very near again.

Stuart turned and found himself gazing fearfully in the direction of

the open study door. He became persuaded anew that someone was hiding

there, and snatching up an ash stick which lay upon a chair in the

hall he returned to the door. One step into the room he took and

paused--palsied with a sudden fear which exceeded anything he had

known.

A white casement curtain was drawn across the French windows ... and

outlined upon this moon-bright screen he saw a tall figure. It was

that of a _cowled man_!

Such an apparition would have been sufficiently alarming had the cowl

been that of a monk, but the outline of this phantom being suggested

that of one of the Misericordia brethren or the costume worn of old

by the familiars of the Inquisition!

His heart leapt wildly, and seemed to grow still. He sought to cry out

in his terror, but only emitted a dry gasping sound.

The psychology of panic is obscure and has been but imperfectly

explored. The presence of the terrible cowled figure afforded a

confirmation of Stuart's theory that he was the victim of a species

of waking nightmare.

Even as he looked, the shadow of the cowled man moved--and was gone.

Stuart ran across the room, jerked open the curtains and stared out

across the moon-bathed lawn, its prospect terminated by high privet

hedges. One of the French windows was wide open. There was no one on

the lawn; there was no sound.

"Mrs. M'Gregor swears that I always forget to shut these windows at

night!" he muttered.

He closed and bolted the window, stood for a moment looking out across

the empty lawn, then turned and went out of the room.

THE PIBROCH OF THE M'GREGORS

Dr. Stuart awoke in the morning and tried to recall what had occurred

during the night. He consulted his watch and found the hour to be six

a. m. No one was stirring in the house, and he rose and put on a

bath robe. He felt perfectly well and could detect no symptoms of

nervous disorder. Bright sunlight was streaming into the room, and

he went out on to the landing, fastening the cord of his gown as he

descended the stairs.

His study door was locked, with the key outside. He remembered having

locked it. Opening it, he entered and looked about him. He was

vaguely disappointed. Save for the untidy litter of papers upon the

table, the study was as he had left it on retiring. If he could

believe the evidence of his senses, nothing had been disturbed.

Not content with a casual inspection, he particularly examined those

papers which, in his dream adventure, he had believed to have been

submitted to mysterious inspection. They showed no signs of having

been touched. The casement curtains were drawn across the recess

formed by the French windows, and sunlight streamed in where,

silhouetted against the pallid illumination of the moon, he had seen

the man in the cowl. Drawing back the curtains, he examined the window

fastenings. They were secure. If the window had really been open in

the night, he must have left it so himself.

"Well," muttered Stuart--"of all the amazing nightmares!"

He determined, immediately he had bathed and completed his toilet, to

write an account of the dream for the Psychical Research Society, in

whose work he was interested. Half an hour later, as the movements of

an awakened household began to proclaim themselves, he sat down at

his writing-table and commenced to write.

Keppel Stuart was a dark, good-looking man of about thirty-two, an

easy-going bachelor who, whilst not over ambitious, was nevertheless

a brilliant physician. He had worked for the Liverpool School of

Tropical Medicine and had spent several years in India studying snake

poisons. His purchase of this humdrum suburban practice had been

dictated by a desire to make a home for a girl who at the eleventh

hour had declined to share it. Two years had elapsed since then, but

the shadow still lay upon Stuart's life, its influence being revealed

in a certain apathy, almost indifference, which characterised his

professional conduct.

His account of the dream completed, he put the paper into a

pigeon-hole and forgot all about the matter. That day seemed to be

more than usually dull and the hours to drag wearily on. He was

conscious of a sort of suspense. He was waiting for something, or for

someone. He did not choose to analyse this mental condition. Had he

done so, the explanation was simple--and one that he dared not face.

At about ten o'clock that night, having been called out to a case, he

returned to his house, walking straight into the study as was his

custom and casting a light Burberry with a soft hat upon the sofa

beside his stick and bag. The lamps were lighted, and the book-lined

room, indicative of a studious and not over-wealthy bachelor, looked

cheerful enough with the firelight dancing on the furniture.

Mrs. M'Gregor, a grey-haired Scotch lady, attired with scrupulous

neatness, was tending the fire at the moment, and hearing Stuart come

in she turned and glanced at him.

"A fire is rather superfluous to-night, Mrs. M'Gregor," he said. "I

found it unpleasantly warm walking."

"May is a fearsome treacherous month, Mr. Keppel," replied the old

housekeeper, who from long association with the struggling

practitioner had come to regard him as a son. "An' a wheen o' dry

logs is worth a barrel o' pheesic. To which I would add that if ye're

hintin' it's time ye shed ye're woolsies for ye're summer wear, all I

have to reply is that I hope sincerely ye're patients are more

prudent than yoursel'."

She placed his slippers in the fender and took up the hat, stick and

coat from the sofa. Stuart laughed.

"Most of the neighbors exhibit their wisdom by refraining from

becoming patients of mine, Mrs. M'Gregor."

"That's no weesdom; it's just preejudice."

"Prejudice!" cried Stuart, dropping down upon the sofa.

"Aye," replied Mrs. M'Gregor firmly--"preejudice! They're no' that

daft but they're well aware o' who's the cleverest physeecian in the

deestrict, an' they come to nane other than Dr. Keppel Stuart when

they're sair sick and think they're dying; but ye'll never establish

the practice you desairve, Mr. Keppel--never--until--"

"Until when, Mrs. M'Gregor?"

"Until ye take heed of an auld wife's advice and find a new

housekeeper."

"Mrs. M'Gregor!" exclaimed Stuart with concern. "You don't mean that

you want to desert me? After--let me see--how many years is it,

Mrs. M'Gregor?"

"Thirty years come last Shrove Tuesday; I dandled ye on my knee, and

eh! but ye were bonny! God forbid, but I'd like to see ye thriving as

ye desairve, and that ye'll never do whilst ye're a bachelor."

"Oh!" cried Stuart, laughing again--"oh, that's it, is it? So you

would like me to find some poor inoffensive girl to share my struggles?"

Mrs. M'Gregor nodded wisely. "She'd have nane so many to share. I

know ye think I'm old-fashioned, Mr. Keppel and it may be I am; but

I do assure you I would be sair harassed, if stricken to my bed--which,

please God, I won't be--to receive the veesits of a pairsonable young

bachelor--"

"Er--Mrs. M'Gregor!" interrupted Stuart, coughing in mock

rebuke--"quite so! I fancy we have discussed this point before, and

as you say your ideas are a wee bit, just a wee bit, behind the times.

On this particular point I mean. But I am very grateful to you, very

sincerely grateful, for your disinterested kindness; and if ever I

should follow your advice----"

Mrs. M'Gregor interrupted him, pointing to his boots. "Ye're no' that

daft as to sit in wet boots?"

"Really they are perfectly dry. Except for a light shower this

evening, there has been no rain for several days. However, I may as

well, since I shall not be going out again."

He began to unlace his boots as Mrs. M'Gregor pulled the white

casement curtains across the windows and then prepared to retire. Her

hand upon the door knob, she turned again to Stuart.

"The foreign lady called half an hour since, Mr. Keppel."

Stuart desisted from unlacing his boots and looked up with lively

interest. "Mlle. Dorian! Did she leave any message?"

"She obsairved that she might repeat her veesit later," replied

Mrs. M'Gregor, and, after a moment's hesitation; "she awaited ye're

return with exemplary patience."

"Really, I am sorry I was detained," declared Stuart, replacing his

boot. "How long has she been gone, then?"

"Just the now. No more than two or three minutes. I trust she is no

worse."

"Worse!"

"The lass seemed o'er anxious to see you."

"Well, you know, Mrs. M'Gregor, she comes a considerable distance."

"So I am given to understand, Mr. Keppel," replied the old lady;

"and in a grand luxurious car."

Stuart assumed an expression of perplexity to hide his embarrassment.

"Mrs. M'Gregor," he said rather ruefully, "you watch over me as

tenderly as my own mother would have done. I have observed a certain

restraint in your manner whenever you have had occasion to refer to

Mlle. Dorian. In what way does she differ from my other lady

patients?" And even as he spoke the words he knew in his heart that

she differed from every other woman in the world.

Mrs. M'Gregor sniffed. "Do your other lady patients wear furs that

your airnings for six months could never pay for, Mr. Keppel?" she

inquired.

"No, unfortunately they pin their faith, for the most part, to gaily

coloured shawls. All the more reason why I should bless the accident

which led Mlle. Dorian to my door."

Mrs. M'Gregor, betraying, in her interest, real suspicion, murmured

_sotto voce_: "Then she _is_ a patient?"

"What's that?" asked Stuart, regarding her surprisedly. "A patient?

Certainly. She suffers from insomnia."

"I'm no' surprised to hear it."

"What do you mean, Mrs. M'Gregor?"

"Now, Mr. Keppel, laddie, ye're angry with me, and like enough I am

a meddlesome auld woman. But I know what a man will do for shining

een and a winsome face--nane better to my sorrow--and twa times have

I heard the Warning."

Stuart stood up in real perplexity. "Pardon my density, Mrs.

M'Gregor, but--er--the Warning? To what 'warning' do you refer?"

Seating herself in the chair before the writing-table, Mrs. M'Gregor

shook her head pensively. "What would it be," she said softly, "but

the Pibroch o' the M'Gregors?"

Stuart came across and leaned upon a corner of the table. "The

Pibroch of the M'Gregors?" he repeated.

"Nane other. 'Tis said to be Rob Roy's ain piper that gives warning

when danger threatens ane o' the M'Gregors or any they love."

Stuart restrained a smile, and, "A well-meaning but melancholy

retainer!" he commented.

"As well as I hear you now, laddie, I heard the pibroch on the day a

certain woman first crossed my threshold, nigh thirty years ago, in

Inverary. And as plainly as I heard it wailing then, I heard it the

first evening that Miss Dorian came to this house!"

Torn between good-humoured amusement and real interest, "If I remember

rightly," said Stuart, "Mlle. Dorian first called here just a week ago,

and immediately before I returned from an Infirmary case?"

"Your memory is guid, Mr. Keppel."

"And when, exactly, did you hear this Warning?"

"Twa minutes before you entered the house; and I heard it again the

now."

"What! you heard it to-night?"

"I heard it again just the now and I lookit out the window."

"Did you obtain a glimpse of Rob Roy's piper?"

"Ye're laughing at an old wife, laddie. No, but I saw Miss Dorian away

in her car and twa minutes later I saw yourself coming round the

corner."

"If she had only waited another two minutes," murmured Stuart. "No

matter; she may return. And are these the only occasions upon which

you have heard this mysterious sound, Mrs. M'Gregor?"

"No, Master Keppel, they are not. I assure ye something threatens. It

wakened me up in the wee sma' hours last night--the piping--an' I lay

awake shaking for long eno'."

"How extraordinary. Are you sure your imagination is not playing you

tricks?"

"Ah, you're no' takin' me seriously, laddie."

"Mrs. M'Gregor"--he leaned across the table and rested his hands upon

her shoulders--"you are a second mother to me, your care makes me feel

like a boy again; and in these grey days it's good to feel like a boy

again. You think I am laughing at you, but I'm not. The strange

tradition of your family is associated with a tragedy in your life;

therefore I respect it. But have no fear with regard to Mlle. Dorian.

In the first place she is a patient; in the second--I am merely a

penniless suburban practitioner. Good-night, Mrs. M'Gregor. Don't

think of waiting up. Tell Mary to show Mademoiselle in here directly

she arrives--that is if she really returns."

Mrs. M'Gregor stood up and walked slowly to the door. "I'll show

Mademoiselle in mysel', Mr. Keppel," she said,--"and show her out."

She closed the door very quietly.

THE SCORPION'S TAIL

Seating himself at the writing-table, Stuart began mechanically to

arrange his papers. Then from the tobacco jar he loaded his pipe,

but his manner remained abstracted. Yet he was not thinking of the

phantom piper but of Mlle. Dorian.

Until he had met this bewilderingly pretty woman he had thought that

his heart was for evermore proof against the glances of bright eyes.

Mademoiselle had disillusioned him. She was the most fragrantly lovely

creature he had ever met, and never for one waking moment since her

first visit, had he succeeded in driving her bewitching image from

his mind. He had tried to laugh at his own folly, then had grown angry

with himself, but finally had settled down to a dismayed acceptance

of a wild infatuation.

He had no idea who Mlle. Dorian was; he did not even know her exact

nationality, but he strongly suspected there was a strain of Eastern

blood in her veins. Although she was quite young, apparently little

more than twenty years of age, she dressed like a woman of unlimited

means, and although all her visits had been at night he had had

glimpses of the big car which had aroused Mrs. M'Gregor's displeasure.

Yes--so ran his musings, as, pipe in mouth, he rested his chin in his

hands and stared grimly into the fire--she had always come at night

and always alone. He had supposed her to be a Frenchwoman, but an

unmarried French girl of good family does not make late calls, even

upon a medical man, unattended. Had he perchance unwittingly made

himself a party to the escapade of some unruly member of a noble

family? From the first he had shrewdly suspected the ailments of Mlle.

Dorian to be imaginary--Mlle. Dorian? It was an odd name.

"I shall be imagining she is a disguised princess if I wonder about

her any more!" he muttered angrily.

Detecting himself in the act of heaving a weary sigh, he coughed in

self-reproval and reached into a pigeon-hole for the MS. of his

unfinished paper on "Snake Poisons and Their Antidotes." By chance he

pulled out the brief account, written the same morning, of his uncanny

experience during the night. He read it through reflectively.

It was incomplete. A certain mental haziness which he had noted upon

awakening had in some way obscured the facts. His memory of the dream

had been imperfect. Even now, whilst recognizing that some feature of

the experience was missing from his written account, he could not

identify the omission. But one memory arose starkly before him--that

of the cowled man who had stood behind the curtains. It had power to

chill him yet. The old incredulity returned and methodically he

re-examined the contents of some of the table drawers. Ere long,

however, he desisted impatiently.

"What the devil could a penniless doctor have hidden in his desk that

was worth stealing!" he said aloud. "I must avoid cold salmon and

cucumber in future."

He tossed the statement aside and turned to his scientific paper.

There came knock at the door.

"Come in!" snapped Stuart irritably; but the next moment he had turned,

eager-eyed to the servant who had entered.

"Inspector Dunbar has called, sir."

"Oh, all right," said Stuart, repressing another sigh. "Show him in

here."

There entered, shortly, a man of unusual height, a man gaunt and

square both of figure and of face. He wore his clothes and his hair

untidily. He was iron grey and a grim mouth was ill concealed by the

wiry moustache. The most notable features of a striking face were the

tawny leonine eyes, which could be fierce, which could be pensive and

which were often kindly.

"Good evening, doctor," he said--and his voice was pleasant and

unexpectedly light in tome. "Hope I don't intrude."

"Not at all, Inspector," Stuart assured him.

"Make yourself comfortable in the armchair and fill your pipe."

"Thanks," said Dunbar. "I will." He took out his pipe and reached out

a long arm for the tobacco jar. "I came to see if you could give me a

tip on a matter that has cropped up."

"Something in my line?" asked Stuart, a keen professional look coming

momentarily into his eyes.

"It's supposed to be a poison case, although I can't see it myself,"

answered the detective--to whom Keppel Stuart's unusual knowledge of

poisons had been of service in the past; "but if what I suspect is

true, it's a very big case all the same."

Laying down his pipe, which he had filled but not lighted, Inspector

Dunbar pulled out from the inside pocket of his tweed coat a bulging

note-book and extracted therefrom some small object wrapped up in

tissue paper. Unwrapping this object, he laid it upon the table.

"Tell me what that is, doctor," he said, "and I shall be obliged."

Stuart peered closely at that which lay before him. It was a piece of

curiously shaped gold, cunningly engraved in a most unusual way.

Rather less than an inch in length, it formed a crescent made up of

six oval segments joined one to another, the sixth terminating in a

curled point. The first and largest segment ended jaggedly where it

had evidently been snapped off from the rest of the ornament--if the

thing had formed part of an ornament. Stuart looked up, frowning in

a puzzled way.

"It is a most curious fragment of jewellery--possibly of Indian

origin," he said.

Inspector Dunbar lighted his pipe and tossed the match-end into the

fire. "But what does it represent?" he asked.

"Oh, as to that--I said a _curious_ fragment advisedly, because I

cannot imagine any woman wearing such a beastly thing. It is the _tail

of a scorpion._"

"Ah!" cried Dunbar, the tawny eyes glittering with excitement. "The

tail of a scorpion! I thought so! And Sowerby would have it that it

represented the stem of a Cactus or Prickly Pear!"

"Not so bad a guess," replied Stuart. "There _are_ resemblances--not

in the originals but in such a miniature reproduction as this. He was

wrong, however. May I ask where you obtained the fragment?"

"I'm here to tell you, doctor, for now that I know it's a scorpion's

tail I know that I'm out of my depth as well. You've travelled in

the East and lived in the East--two very different things. Now, while

you were out there, in India, China, Burma, and so on, did you ever

come across a religion or a cult that worshipped scorpions?"

Stuart frowned thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with the mouthpiece of

his pipe. Dunbar watched him expectantly.

"Help yourself to whiskey-and-soda, Inspector," said Stuart absently.

"You'll find everything on the side-table yonder. I'm thinking."

Inspector Dunbar nodded, stood up and crossed the room, where he

busied himself with syphon and decanter. Presently he returned,

carrying two full glasses, one of which he set before Stuart. "What's

the answer, doctor?" he asked.

"The answer is _no_. I am not acquainted with any sect of

scorpion-worshippers, Inspector. But I once met with a curious

experience at Su-Chow in China, which I have never been able to

explain, but which may interest you. It wanted but a few minutes to

sunset, and I was anxious to get back to my quarters before dusk fell.

Therefore I hurried up my boy, who was drawing the rickshaw, telling

him to cross the Canal by the Wu-men Bridge. He ran fleetly in that

direction, and we were actually come to the steep acclivity of the

bridge, when suddenly the boy dropped the shafts and fell down on his

knees, hiding his face in his hands.

"'Shut your eyes tightly, master!' he whispered. 'The Scorpion is

coming!'

"I stared down at him in amazement, as was natural, and not a little

angrily; for his sudden action had almost pitched me on my head. But

there he crouched, immovable, and staring up the slope I say that it

was entirely deserted except for one strange figure at that moment

crossing the crown of the bridge and approaching. It was the figure

of a tall and dignified Chinaman, or of one who wore the dress of a

Chinaman. For the extra-ordinary thing about the stranger's appearance

was this; he also wore a thick green veil!"

"Covering his face?"

"So as to cover his face completely. I was staring at him in wonder,

when the boy, seeming to divine the other's approach, whispered,

'Turn your head away! Turn your head away!"

"He was referring to the man with the veil?"

"Undoubtedly. Of course I did nothing of the kind, but it was

impossible to discern the stranger's features through the thick gauze,

although he passed quite close to me. He had not proceeded another

three paces, I should think, before my boy had snatched up the shafts

and darted across the bridge as though all hell were after him! Here's

the odd thing, though; I could never induce him to speak a word on the

subject afterwards! I bullied him and bribed him, but all to no

purpose. And although I must have asked more than a hundred Chinamen

in every station of society from mandarin to mendicant, 'Who or what

is _The Scorpion?_' one and all looked stupid, blandly assuring me

that they did not know what I meant."

"H'm!" said Dunbar, "it's a queer yarn, certainly. How long ago would

that be, doctor?"

"Roughly--five years."

"It sounds as though it might belong to the case. Some months back,

early in the winter, we received instructions at the Yard to look out

everywhere in the press, in buffets, theatres, but particularly in

criminal quarters, for any reference (of any kind whatever) to a

scorpion. I was so puzzled that I saw the Commissioner about it,

and he could tell me next to nothing. He said the word had come

through from Paris, but that Paris seemed to know no more about it

than we did. It was associated in some way with the sudden deaths of

several notable public men about that time; but as there was no

evidence of foul play in any of the cases, I couldn't see what it

meant at all. Then, six weeks ago, Sir Frank Narcombe, the surgeon,

fell dead in the foyer of a West-End theatre--you remember?"

MADEMOISELLE DORIAN

The telephone bell rang.

Stuart reached across for the instrument and raised the receiver.

"Yes," he said--"Dr. Stuart speaking. Inspector Dunbar is here. Hold

on."

He passed the instrument to Dunbar, who had stood up on hearing his

name mentioned. "Sergeant Sowerby at Scotland Yard wishes to speak

to you, Inspector."

"Hullo," said Dunbar--"that you, Sowerby. Yes--but I arrived here

only a short time ago. What's that?--Max? Good God! what does it all

mean! Are you sure of the number--49685? Poor chap--he should have

worked with us instead of going off alone like that. But he was

always given to that sort of thing. Wait for me. I'll be with you in

a few minutes. I can get a taxi. And, Sowerby--listen! It's 'The

Scorpion' case right enough. That bit of gold found on the dead man

is not a cactus stem; it's a scorpion's tail!"

He put down the telephone and turned to Stuart, who had been listening

to the words with growing concern. Dunbar struck his open palm down

on to the table with a violent gesture.

"We have been asleep!" he exclaimed. "Gaston Max of the Paris Service

has been at work in London for a month, and we didn't know it!"

"Gaston Max!" cried Start--"then it must be a big case indeed."

As a student of criminology the name of the celebrated Frenchman was

familiar to him as that of the foremost criminal investigator in

Europe, and he found himself staring at the fragment of gold with a new

and keener interest.

"Poor chap," continued Dunbar--"it was his last. The body brought in

from Hanover Hole has been identified as his."

"What! it is the body of Gaston Max!"

"Paris has just wired that Max's reports ceased over a week ago. He

was working on the case of Sir Frank Narcombe, it seems, and I never

knew! But I predicted a long time ago that Max would play the

lone-hand game once too often. They sent particulars. The

identification disk is his. Oh! there's no doubt about it,

unfortunately. The dead man's face is unrecognizable, but it's not

likely there are two disks of that sort bearing the initials G.M. and

the number 49685. I'm going along now. Should you care to come,

doctor?"

"I am expecting a patient, Inspector," replied Stuart--"er--a special

case. But I hope you will keep me in touch with this affair?"

"Well, I shouldn't have suggested your coming to the Yard if I hadn't

wanted to do that. As a matter of fact, this scorpion job seems to

resolve itself into a case of elaborate assassination by means of

some unknown poison; and although I should have come to see you in

any event, because you have helped me more than once, I came to-night

at the suggestion of the Commissioner. He instructed me to retain

your services if they were available."

"I am honoured," replied Stuart. "But after all, Inspector, I am

merely an ordinary suburban practitioner. My reputation has yet to

be made. What's the matter with Halesowen of Upper Wimpole Street?

He's the big man."

"And if Sir Frank Narcombe was really poisoned--as Paris seems to

think he was--he's also a big fool." retorted Dunbar bluntly. "He

agreed that death was due to heart trouble."

"I know he did; unsuspected ulcerative endocarditis. Perhaps he was

right."

"If he was right," said Dunbar, taking up the piece of gold from the

table, "what was Gaston Max doing with this thing in his possession?"

"There may be no earthly connection between Max's inquiries and the

death of Sir Frank."

"On the other hand--there may! Leaving Dr. Halesowen out of the

question, are you open to act as expert adviser in this case?"

"Certainly; delighted."

"Your fee is your own affair, doctor. I will communicate with you

later, if you wish, or call again in the morning."

Dunbar wrapped up the scorpion's tail in the piece of tissue paper

and was about to replace it in his note-case. Then:

"I'll leave this with you, doctor," he said. "I know it will be safe

enough, and you might like to examine it at greater leisure."

"Very well," replied Stuart. "Some of the engraving is very minute.

I will have a look at it through a glass later."

He took the fragment from Dunbar, who had again unwrapped it, and,

opening a drawer of the writing-table in which he kept his cheque-book

and some few other personal valuables, he placed the curious piece of

gold-work within and relocked the drawer.

"I will walk as far as the cab-rank with you," he said, finding

himself to be possessed of a spirit of unrest. Whereupon the two went

out of the room, Stuart extinguishing the lamps as he came to the

door.

They had not left the study for more than two minutes ere a car drew

up outside the house, and Mrs. M'Gregor ushered a lady into the room

but lately quitted by Stuart and Dunbar, turning up the lights as she

entered.

"The doctor has gone out but just now, Miss Dorian," she said stiffly.

"I am sorry that ye are so unfortunate in your veesits. But I know

he'll be no more than a few minutes."

The girl addressed was of a type fully to account for the misgivings

of the shrewd old Scotswoman. She had the slim beauty of the East

allied to the elegance of the West. Her features, whilst cast in a

charming European mould, at the same time suggested in some subtle

way the Oriental. She had the long, almond-shaped eyes of the Egyptian,

and her hair, which she wore unconventionally in a picturesque

fashion reminiscent of the _harem_, was inclined to be "fuzzy," but

gleamed with coppery tints where the light touched its waves.

She wore a cloak of purple velvet having a hooded collar of white fox

fur; it fastened with golden cords. Beneath it was a white and gold

robe, cut with classic simplicity of line and confined at the waist

by an ornate Eastern girdle. White stockings and dull gold shoes

exhibited to advantage her charming little feet and slim ankles, and

she carried a handbag of Indian beadwork. Mlle. Dorian was a figure

calculated to fire the imagination of any man and to linger long and

sweetly in the memory.

Mrs. M'Gregor, palpably ill at ease, conducted her to an armchair.

"You are very good," said the visitor, speaking with a certain

hesitancy and with a slight accent most musical and fascinating.

"I wait a while if I may."

"Dear, dear," muttered Mrs. M'Gregor, beginning to poke the fire, "he

has let the fire down, of course! Is it out? No ... I see a wee

sparkie!"

She set the poker upright before the nearly extinguished fire and

turned triumphantly to Mlle. Dorian, who was watching her with a

slight smile.

"That will be a comforting blaze in a few minutes, Miss Dorian," she

said, and went towards the door.

"If you please," called the girl, detaining her--"do you permit me to

speak on the telephone a moment? As Dr. Stuart is not at home, I must

explain that I wait for him."

"Certainly, Miss Dorian," replied Mrs. M'Gregor; "use the telephone

by all means. But I think the doctor will be back any moment now."

"Thank you so much."

Mrs. M'Gregor went out, not without a final backward glance at the

elegant figure in the armchair. Mlle. Dorian was seated, her chin

resting in her hand and her elbow upon the arm of the chair, gazing

into the smoke arising from the nearly extinguished ember of the fire.

The door closed, and Mrs. M'Gregor's footsteps could be heard receding

along the corridor.

Mlle. Dorian sprang from the chair and took out of her handbag a

number of small keys attached to a ring. Furtively she crossed the

room, all the time listening intently, and cast her cloak over the

back of the chair which was placed before the writing-table. Her robe

of white and gold clung to her shapely figure as she bent over the

table and tried three of the keys in the lock of the drawer which

contained Stuart's cheque-book and in which he had recently placed

the mysterious gold ornament. The third key fitted the lock, and Mlle.

Dorian pulled open the drawer. She discovered first the cheque-book

and next a private account-book; then from under the latter she drew

out a foolscap envelope sealed with red wax and bearing, in Stuart's

handwriting, the address:

Lost Property Office,

Metropolitan Police,

New Scotland Yard, S. W. I.

She uttered a subdued exclamation; then, as a spark of light gleamed

within the open drawer, she gazed as if stupefied at the little

ornament which she had suddenly perceived lying near the cheque-book.

She picked it up and stared at it aghast. A moment she hesitated;

then, laying down the fragment of gold and also the long envelope upon

the table, she took up the telephone. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the

closed door of the study, she asked for the number East 89512, and

whilst she waited for the connection continued that nervous watching

and listening. Suddenly she began to speak, in a low voice.

"Yes! ... Miska speaks. Listen! One of the new keys--it fits. I have

the envelope. But, also in the same drawer, I find a part of a broken

gold _'agrab_ (scorpion). Yes, it is broken. It must be they find it,

on him." Her manner grew more and more agitated. "Shall I bring it?

The envelope it is very large. I do not know if----"

From somewhere outside the house came a low, wailing cry--a cry which

Stuart, if he had heard it, must have recognized to be identical with

that which he had heard in the night--but which he had forgotten to

record in his written account.

"Ah!" whispered the girl--"there is the signal! It is the doctor who

returns." She listened eagerly, fearfully, to the voice which spoke

over the wires. "Yes--yes!"

Always glancing toward the door, she put down the instrument, took

up the long envelope and paused for a moment, thinking that she had

heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She exhibited signs of

nervous indecision, tried to thrust the envelope into her little bag

and realized that even folded it would not fit so as to escape

observation. She ran across to the grate and dropped the envelope

upon the smouldering fire. As she did so, the nicely balanced poker

fell with a clatter upon the tiled hearth.