Kitabı oxu: «The Golden Scorpion»

Name: The Golden Scorpion
Author: Sax Rohmer
ISBN: 9783753192086

Sax Rohmer

Şrift:

Sax Rohmer

The Golden Scorpion

Dieses ebook wurde erstellt bei

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.

She started wildly, ran back to the table, took up the broken ornament

and was about to thrust it into the open drawer, when the study door

was flung open and Stuart came in.

THE SEALED ENVELOPE

"MADEMOISELLE DORIAN!" cried Stuart joyously, advancing with

outstretched hand. She leaned back against the table watching him--and

suddenly he perceived the open drawer. He stopped. His expression

changed to one of surprise and anger, and the girl's slim fingers

convulsively clutched the table edge as she confronted him. Her

exquisite colour fled and left her pallid, dark-eyed and dismayed.

"So," he said bitterly--"I returned none too soon, Mlle.--_Dorian_"

"Oh! she whispered, and shrank from him as he approached nearer.

"Your object in selecting an obscure practitioner for your medical

adviser becomes painfully evident to me. Diagnosis of your case would

have been much more easy if I had associated your symptoms with the

presence in my table drawer of"--he hesitated--"of something which

you have taken out. Give me whatever you have stolen and compose

yourself to await the arrival of the police."

He was cruel in his disillusionment. Here lay the explanation of his

romance; here was his disguised princess--a common thief! She stared

at him wildly.

"I take nothing!" she cried. "Oh, let me go! Please, please let me go!"

"Pleading is useless. What have you stolen?"

"Nothing--see." She cast the little gold ornament on the table. "I

look at this, but I do not mean to steal it."

She raised her beautiful eyes to his face again, and he found himself

wavering. That she had made his acquaintance in order to steal the

fragment of the golden scorpion was impossible, for he had not

possessed it at the time of her first visit. He was hopelessly

mystified and utterly miserable.

"How did you open the drawer?" he asked sternly.

She took up the bunch of keys which lay upon the table and naively

exhibited that which fitted the lock of the drawer. Her hands were

shaking.

"Where did you obtain this key; and why?"

She watched him intently, her lips trembling and her eyes wells of

sorrow into which he could not gaze unmoved.

"If I tell you--will you let me go?"

"I shall make no promises, for I can believe nothing that you may

tell me. You gained my confidence by a lie--and now, by another lie,

you seem to think that you can induce me to overlook a deliberate

attempt at burglary--common burglary." He clenched his hands.

"Heavens! I could never have believed it of you!"

She flinched as though from a blow and regarded him pitifully as he

stood, head averted.

"Oh, please listen to me," she whispered. "At first I tell you a lie,

yes."

"And now?"

"Now--I tell you the truth."

"That you are a petty thief?"

"Ah! you are cruel--you have no pity! You judge me as you judge--one

of your Englishwomen. Perhaps I cannot help what I do. In the East a

woman is a chattel and has no will of her own."

"A chattel!" cried Stuart scornfully. "Your resemblance to the

'chattels' of the East is a remote one. There is Eastern blood in

your veins, no doubt, but you are educated, you are a linguist, you

know the world. Right and wrong are recognizable to the lowest savage."

"And if they recognize, but are helpless?"

Stuart made a gesture of impatience.

"You are simply seeking to enlist my sympathy," he said bitterly.

"But you have said nothing which inclines me to listen to you any

longer. Apart from the shock of finding you to be--what you are, I

am utterly mystified as to your object. I am a poor man. The entire

contents of my house would fetch only a few hundred pounds if sold

to-morrow. Yet you risk your liberty to rifle my bureau. For the last

time--what have you taken from that drawer?"

She leaned back against the table, toying with the broken piece of

gold and glancing down at it as she did so. Her long lashes cast

shadows below her eyes, and a hint of colour was returning to her

cheeks. Stuart studied her attentively--even delightedly, for all

her shortcomings, and knew in his heart that he could never give her

in charge of the police. More and more the wonder of it all grew upon

him, and now he suddenly found himself thinking of the unexplained

incident of the previous night.

"You do not answer," he said. "I will ask you another question: have

you attempted to open that drawer prior to this evening?"

Mlle. Dorian looked up rapidly, and her cheeks, which had been pale,

now flushed rosily.

"I try twice before," she confessed, "and cannot open it."

"Ah! And--has _someone else_ tried also?"

Instantly her colour fled again, and she stared at him wide-eyed,

fearful.

"Someone else?" she whispered.

"Yes--someone else. A man ... wearing a sort of cowl----"

"Oh?" she cried and threw out her hands in entreaty. "Do not ask me of

_him_! I dare not answer--I dare not!"

"You have answered," said Stuart, in a voice unlike his own; for a

horrified amazement was creeping upon him and supplanting the

contemptuous anger which the discovery of this beautiful girl engaged

in pilfering his poor belongings had at first aroused.

The mystery of her operations was explained--explained by a deeper

and a darker mystery. The horror of the night had been no dream but

an almost incredible reality. He now saw before him an agent of the

man in the cowl; he perceived that he was in some way entangled in an

affair vastly more complex and sinister than a case of petty larceny.

"Has the golden scorpion anything to do with the matter?" he demanded

abruptly.

And in the eyes of his beautiful captive he read the answer. She

flinched again as she had done when he had taunted her with being a

thief; but he pressed his advantage remorselessly.

"So you were concerned in the death of Sir Frank Narcombe!" he said.

"I was not!" she cried at him fiercely, and her widely opened eyes

were magnificent. "Sir Frank Narcombe is----"

She faltered--and ceased speaking, biting her lip which had become

tremulous again.

"Sir Frank Narcombe is?" prompted Stuart, feeling himself to stand

upon the brink of a revelation.

"I know nothing of him--this Sir Frank Narcombe."

Stuart laughed unmirthfully.

"Am I, by any chance, in danger of sharing the fate of that

distinguished surgeon?" he asked.

His question produced an unforeseen effect. Mlle. Dorian suddenly

rested her jewelled hands upon his shoulders, and he found himself

looking hungrily into those wonderful Eastern eyes.

"If I swear that I speak the truth, will you believe me?" she

whispered, and her fingers closed convulsively upon his shoulders.

He was shaken. Her near presence was intoxicating. "Perhaps," he said

unsteadily.

"Listen, then. _Now_ you are in danger, yes. Before, you were not, but

now you must be very careful. Oh! indeed, indeed, I tell you true! I

tell you for your own sake. Do with me what you please. I do not care.

It does not matter. You ask me why I come here. I tell you that also.

I come for what is in the long envelope--look, I cannot hide it. It

is on the fire!"

Stuart turned and glanced toward the grate. A faint wisp of brown

smoke was arising from a long white envelope which lay there. Had the

fire been actually burning, it must long ago have been destroyed.

More than ever mystified, for the significance of the envelope was

not evident to him, he ran to the grate and plucked the smouldering

paper from the embers.

As he did so, the girl, with one quick glance in his direction,

snatched her cloak, keys and bag and ran from the room. Stuart heard

the door close, and racing back to the table he placed the slightly

charred envelope there beside the fragment of gold and leapt to the

door.

"Damn!" he said.

His escaped prisoner had turned the key on the outside. He was locked

in his own study!

Momentarily nonplussed, he stood looking at the closed door. The sound

of a restarted motor from outside the house spurred him to action. He

switched off the lamps, crossed the darkened room and drew back the

curtain, throwing open the French windows. Brilliant moonlight bathed

the little lawn with its bordering of high privet hedges. Stuart ran

out as the sound of the receding car reached his ears. By the time

that he had reached the front of the house the street was vacant from

end to end. He walked up the steps to the front door, which he

unfastened with his latch-key. As he entered the hall, Mrs. M'Gregor

appeared from her room.

"I did no' hear ye go out with Miss Dorian," she said.

"That's quite possible, Mrs. M'Gregor, but she has gone, you see."

"Now tell me, Mr. Keppel, did ye or did ye no' hear the wail o' the

pibroch the night?

"No--I am afraid I cannot say that I did, Mrs. M'Gregor," replied

Stuart patiently. "I feel sure you must be very tired and you can

justifiably turn in now. I am expecting no other visitor. Good-night."

Palpably dissatisfied and ill at ease, Mrs. M'Gregor turned away.

"Good-night, Mr. Keppel," she said.

Stuart, no longer able to control his impatience, hurried to the study

door, unlocked it and entered. Turning on the light, he crossed and

hastily drew the curtains over the window recess, but without

troubling to close the window which he had opened. Then he returned

to the writing-table and took up the sealed envelope whose presence

in his bureau was clearly responsible for the singular visitation of

the cowled man and for the coming of the lovely Mlle. Dorian.

The "pibroch of the M'Gregors": He remembered something--something

which, unaccountably, he hitherto had failed to recall: that fearful

wailing in the night--which had heralded the coming of the cowled

man!--or had it been a _signal_ of some kind?

He stared at the envelope blankly, then laid it down and stood looking

for some time at the golden scorpion's tail. Finally, his hands

resting upon the table, he found that almost unconsciously he had

been listening--listening to the dim night sounds of London and to

the vague stirrings within the house.

"_Now_, you are in danger. Before, you were not...."

Could he believe her? If in naught else, in this at least surely she

had been sincere? Stuart started--then laughed grimly.

A clock on the mantel-piece had chimed the half-hour.

THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER

Detective-Inspector Dunbar arrived at New Scotland Yard in a veritable

fever of excitement. Jumping out of the cab he ran into the building

and without troubling the man in charge of the lift went straight on

upstairs to his room. He found it to be in darkness and switched on

the green-shaded lamp which was suspended above the table. Its light

revealed a bare apartment having distempered walls severely decorated

by an etching of a former and unbeautiful Commissioner. The blinds

were drawn. A plain, heavy deal table (bearing a blotting-pad, a

pewter ink-pot, several pens and a telephone), together with three

uncomfortable chairs, alone broke the expanse of highly polished

floor. Dunbar glanced at the table and then stood undecided in the

middle of the bare room, tapping his small, widely separated teeth

with a pencil which he had absently drawn from his waistcoat pocket.

He rang the bell.

A constable came in almost immediately and stood waiting just inside

the door.

"When did Sergeant Sowerby leave?" asked Dunbar.

"About three hours ago, sir."

"What!" cried Dunbar. "Three hours ago! But I have been here myself

within that time--in the Commissioner's office."

"Sergeant Sowerby left before then. I saw him go."

"But, my good fellow, he has been back again. He spoke to me on the

telephone less than a quarter of an hour ago."

"Not from here, sir."

"But I say it _was_ from here!" shouted Dunbar fiercely; "and I told

him to wait for me."

"Very good, sir. Shall I make inquiries?"

"Yes. Wait a minute. Is the Commissioner here?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so. At least I have not seen him go."

"Find Sergeant Sowerby and tell him to wait here for me," snapped

Dunbar.

He walked out into the bare corridor and along to the room of the

Assistant Commissioner. Knocking upon the door, he opened it

immediately, and entered an apartment which afforded a striking

contrast to his own. For whereas the room of Inspector Dunbar was

practically unfurnished, that of his superior was so filled with

tables, cupboards, desks, bureaux, files, telephones, bookshelves

and stacks of documents that one only discovered the Assistant

Commissioner sunk deep in a padded armchair and a cloud of tobacco

smoke by dint of close scrutiny. The Assistant Commissioner was small,

sallow and satanic. His black moustache was very black and his eyes

were of so dark a brown as to appear black also. When he smiled he

revealed a row of very large white teeth, and his smile was correctly

Mephistophelean. He smoked a hundred and twenty Egyptian cigarettes

per diem, and the first and second fingers of either hand were

coffee-coloured.

"Good-evening, Inspector," he said courteously. "You come at an

opportune moment." He lighted a fresh cigarette. "I was detained here

unusually late to-night or this news would not have reached us till

the morning." He laid his finger upon a yellow form. "There is an

unpleasant development in 'The Scorpion' case."

"So I gather, sir. That is what brought me back to the Yard."

The Assistant Commissioner glanced up sharply.

"What brought you back to the Yard?" he asked.

"The news about Max."

The assistant Commissioner leaned back in his chair. "Might I ask,

Inspector," he said, "what news you have learned and how you have

learned it?"

Dunbar stared uncomprehendingly.

"Sowerby 'phoned me about half an hour ago, sir. Did he do so without

your instructions?"

"Most decidedly. What was his message?"

"He told me," replied Dunbar, in ever-growing amazement, "that the

body brought in by the River Police last night had been identified

as that of Gaston Max."

The Assistant Commissioner handed a pencilled slip to Dunbar. It read

as follows:--

"Gaston Max in London. Scorpion, Narcombe. No report since 30th ult.

Fear trouble. Identity-disk G. M. 49685."

"But, sir," said Dunbar--"this is exactly what Sowerby told me!"

"Quite so. That is the really extraordinary feature of the affair.

Because, you see, Inspector, I only finished decoding this message

at the very moment that you knocked at my door!"

"But----"

"There is no room for a 'but,' Inspector. This confidential message

from Paris reached me ten minutes ago. You know as well as I know that

there is no possibility of leakage. No one has entered my room in the

interval, yet you tell me that Sergeant Sowerby communicated this

information to you, by telephone, half an hour ago."

Dunbar was tapping his teeth with the pencil. His amazement was too

great for words.

"Had the message been a false one," continued the Commissioner, "the

matter would have been resolved into a meaningless hoax, but the

message having been what it was, we find ourselves face to face with

no ordinary problem. Remember, Inspector, that voices on the telephone

are deceptive. Sergeant Sowerby has marked vocal mannerisms----"

"Which would be fairly easy to imitate? Yes, sir--that's so."

"But it brings us no nearer to the real problems; viz., first, the

sender of the message; and, second, his purpose."

There was a dull purring sound and the Assistant Commissioner raised

the telephone.

"Yes. Who is it that wishes to speak to him? Dr. Keppel Stuart?

Connect with my office."

He turned again to Dunbar.

"Dr. Stuart has a matter of the utmost urgency to communicate,

Inspector. It was at the house of Dr. Stuart, I take it, that you

received the unexplained message?"

"It was--yes."

"Did you submit to Dr. Stuart the broken gold ornament?"

"Yes. It's a scorpion's tail."

"Ah!" The Assistant Commissioner smiled satanically and lighted a

fresh cigarette. "And is Dr. Stuart agreeable to placing his unusual

knowledge at our disposal for the purposes of this case?"

"He is, sir."

The purring sound was repeated.

"You are through to Dr. Stuart," said the Assistant Commissioner.

"Hullo" cried Dunbar, taking up the receiver--"is that Dr. Stuart?

Dunbar speaking."

He stood silent for a while, listening to the voice over the wires.

Then: "You want me to come around now, doctor? Very well. I'll be

with you in less than half an hour."

He put down the instrument.

"Something extraordinary seems to have taken place at Dr. Stuart's

house a few minutes after I left, sir," he said. "I'm going back

there, now, for particulars. It sounds as though the 'phone message

might have been intended to get me away." He stared down at the

pencilled slip which the Assistant Commissioner had handed him, but

stared vacantly, and: "Do you mind if I call someone up, sir?" he

asked. "It should be done at once."

"Call by all means, Inspector."

Dunbar again took up the telephone.

"Battersea 0996," he said, and stood waiting. Then:

"Is that Battersea 0996?" he asked. "Is Dr. Stuart there? He is

speaking? Oh, this is Inspector Dunbar. You called me up here at the

Yard a few moments ago, did you not? Correct, doctor; that's all I

wanted to know. I am coming now."

"Good," said the Assistant Commissioner, nodding his approval. "You

will have to check 'phone messages in that way until you have run your

mimic to earth, Inspector. I don't believe for a moment that it was

Sergeant Sowerby who rang you up at Dr. Stuart's."

"Neither do I," said Dunbar grimly. "But I begin to have a glimmer of

a notion who it was. I'll be saying good-night, sir. Dr. Stuart seems

to have something very important to tell me."

As a mere matter of form he waited for the report of the constable who

had gone in quest of Sowerby, but it merely confirmed the fact that

Sowerby had left Scotland Yard over three hours earlier. Dunbar

summoned a taxicab and proceeded to the house of Dr. Stuart.

CONTENTS OF THE SEALED ENVELOPE

Stuart personally admitted Dunbar, and once more the Inspector found

himself in the armchair in the study. The fire was almost out and the

room seemed to be chilly. Stuart was labouring under the influence of

suppressed excitement and was pacing restlessly up and down the floor.

"Inspector," he began, "I find it difficult to tell you the facts which

have recently come to my knowledge bearing upon this most mysterious

'Scorpion' case. I clearly perceive, now, that without being aware of

the fact I have nevertheless been concerned in the case for at least

a week."

Dunbar stared surprisedly, but offered no comment.

"A fortnight ago," Stuart continued, "I found myself in the

neighbourhood of the West India Docks. I had been spending the evening

with a very old friend, chief officer of a liner in dock. I had

intended to leave the ship at about ten o'clock and to walk to the

railway station, but, as it fell out, the party did not break up until

after midnight. Declining the offer of a berth on board, I came ashore

determined to make my way home by tram and afoot. I should probably

have done so and have been spared--much; but rain began to fall

suddenly and I found myself, foolishly unprovided with a top-coat, in

those grey East End streets without hope of getting a lift.

"It was just as I was crossing Limehouse Causeway that I observed, to

my astonishment, the head-lamps of a cab or car shining out from a dark

and forbidding thoroughfare which led down to the river. The sight was

so utterly unexpected that I paused, looking through the rainy mist in

the direction of the stationary vehicle. I was still unable to make

out if it were a cab or a car, and accordingly I walked along to where

it stood and found that it was a taxicab and apparently for hire.

"'Are you disengaged?' I said to the man.

"'Well, sir, I suppose I am,' was his curious reply. 'Where do you

want to go?'

"I gave him this address and he drove me home. On arriving, so

grateful did I feel that I took pity upon the man, for it had settled

down into a brute of a night, and asked him to come in and take a

glass of grog. He was only too glad to do so. He turned out to be

quite an intelligent sort of fellow, and we chatted together for ten

minutes or so.

"I had forgotten all about him when, I believe on the following night,

he reappeared in the character of a patient. He had a badly damaged

skull, and I gathered that he had had an accident with his cab and had

been pitched out into the road.

"When I had fixed him up, he asked me to do him a small favour. From

inside his tunic he pulled out a long stiff envelope, bearing no

address but the number 30 in big red letters. It was secured at both

ends with black wax bearing the imprint of a curious and complicated

seal.

"'A gentleman left this behind in the cab today, sir,' said the

man--'perhaps the one who was with me when I had the spill, and I've

got no means of tracing him; but he may be able to trace _me_ if he

happened to notice my number, or he may advertise. It evidently

contains something valuable.'

"'Then why not take it to Scotland Yard?' I asked. 'Isn't that the

proper course?'

"'It is,' he admitted; 'but here's the point: if the owner reclaims it

from Scotland Yard he's less likely to dub up handsome than if he gets

it direct from me!'

"I laughed at that, for the soundness of the argument was beyond

dispute. 'But what on earth do you want to leave it with _me_ for?'

I asked."

"'Self-protection,' was the reply. 'They can't say I meant to pinch

it! Whereas, directly there's any inquiry I can come and collect it

and get the reward; and your word will back me up if any questions are

asked; that's if you don't mind, sir.'

"I told him I didn't mind in the least, and accordingly I sealed the

envelope in a yet larger one which I addressed to the Lost Property

Office and put into a private drawer of my bureau. 'You will have no

objection,' I said, 'to this being posted if it isn't reclaimed within

a reasonable time?'

"He said that would be all right and departed--since which moment I

have not set eyes upon him. I now come to the sequel, or what I have

just recognized to be the sequel."

Stuart's agitation grew more marked and it was only by dint of a

palpable effort that he forced himself to resume.

"On the evening of the following day a lady called professionally.

She was young, pretty, and dressed with extraordinary elegance. My

housekeeper admitted her, as I was out at the time but momentarily

expected. She awaited my return here, in this room. She came again

two days later. The name she gave was an odd one: Mademoiselle Dorian.

There is her card,"--Stuart opened a drawer and laid a visiting-card

before Dunbar--"no initials and no address. She travelled in a large

and handsome car. That is to say, according to my housekeeper's

account it is a large and handsome car. I personally, have had but an

imperfect glimpse of it. It does not await her in front of the house,

for some reason, but just around the corner in the side turning.

Beyond wondering why Mademoiselle Dorian had selected me as her

medical advisor I had detected nothing suspicious in her behaviour up

to the time of which I am about to speak.

"Last night there was a singular development, and to-night matters

came to a head."

Thereupon Stuart related as briefly as possible the mysterious episode

of the cowled man, and finally gave an account of the last visit of

Mlle. Dorian. Inspector Dunbar did not interrupt him, but listened

attentively to the singular story.

"And there," concluded Stuart, "on the blotting-pad, lies the sealed

envelope!"

Dunbar took it up eagerly. A small hole had been burned in one end of

the envelope and much of the surrounding paper was charred. The wax

with which Stuart had sealed it had lain uppermost, and although it

had been partly melted, the mark of his signet-ring was still

discernible upon it. Dunbar stood staring at it.

"In the circumstances, Inspector, I think you would be justified in

opening both envelopes," said Stuart.

"I am inclined to agree. But let me just be clear on one or two

points." He took out the bulging note-book and also a fountain-pen

with which he prepared to make entries. "About this cabman, now. You

didn't by any chance note the number of his cab?"

"I did not."

"What build of man was he?"

"Over medium height and muscular. Somewhat inclined to flesh and past

his youth, but active all the same."

"Dark or fair?"

"Dark and streaked with grey. I noted this particularly in dressing

his skull. He wore his hair cropped close to the scalp. He had a short

beard and moustache and heavily marked eyebrows. He seemed to be very

short-sighted and kept his eyes so screwed up that it was impossible

to detect their colour, by night at any rate."

"What sort of wound had he on his skull?"

"A short ugly gash. He had caught his head on the footboard in falling.

I may add that on the occasion of his professional visit his breath

smelled strongly of spirits, and I rather suspected that his accident

might have been traceable to his condition."

"But he wasn't actually drunk?"

"By no means. He was perfectly sober, but he had recently been

drinking--possibly because his fall had shaken him, of course."

"His hands?"

"Small and very muscular. Quite steady. Also very dirty."

"What part of the country should you say he hailed from?"

"London. He had a marked cockney accent."

"What make of cab was it?"

"I couldn't say."

"An old cab?"

"Yes. The fittings were dilapidated, I remember, and the cab had a

very musty smell."

"Ah," said Dunbar, making several notes. "And now--the lady: about

what would be her age?"

"Difficult to say, Inspector. She had Eastern blood and may have been

much younger than she appeared to be. Judged from a European standpoint

and from her appearance and manner of dress, she might be about

twenty-three or twenty-four."

"Complexion?"

"Wonderful. Fresh as a flower."

"Eyes?"

"Dark. They looked black at night."

"Hair?"

"Brown and 'fuzzy' with copper tints."

"Tall?"

"No; slight but beautifully shaped."

"Now--from her accent what should you judge her nationality to be?"

Stuart paced up and down the room, his head lowered in reflection,

then:

"She pronounced both English and French words with an intonation which

suggested familiarity with Arabic."

"Arabic? That still leaves a fairly wide field."

"It does, Inspector, but I had no means of learning more. She had

certainly lived for a long time somewhere in the Near East."

"Her jewellery?"

"Some of it was European and some of it Oriental, but not

characteristic of any particular country of the Orient."

"Did she use perfume?"

"Yes, but it was scarcely discernible. Jasmine--probably the Eastern

preparation."

"Her ailment was imaginary?"

"I fear so."

"H'm--and now you say that Mrs. M'Gregor saw the car?"

"Yes, but she has retired."

"Her evidence will do to-morrow. We come to the man in the hood. Can

you give me any kind of a description of him?"

"He appeared to be tall, but a shadow is deceptive, and his

extraordinary costume would produce that effect, too. I can tell you

absolutely nothing further about him. Remember, I thought I was

dreaming. I could not credit my senses."

Inspector Dunbar glanced over the notes which he had made, then

returning the note-book and pen to his pocket, he took up the long

smoke-discoloured envelope and with a paper-knife which lay upon the

table slit one end open. Inserting two fingers, he drew out the second

envelope which the first enclosed. It was an ordinary commercial

envelope only notable by reason of the number, 30, appearing in large

red figures upon it and because it was sealed with black wax bearing

a weird-looking device:

Stuart bent over him intently as he slit this envelope in turn. Again,

he inserted two fingers--and brought forth the sole contents... a

plain piece of cardboard, roughly rectangular and obviously cut in

haste from the lid of a common cardboard box!

THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER'S THEORY

On the following morning Inspector Dunbar, having questioned Mrs.

M'Gregor respecting the car in which Mlle. Dorian had visited the

house and having elicited no other evidence than that it was "a fine

luxurious concern," the Inspector and Dr. Stuart prepared to set out

upon gruesome business. Mrs. M'Gregor was very favourably impressed

with the Inspector. "A grand, pairsonable body," she confided to

Stuart. "He'd look bonny in the kilt."

To an East-End mortuary the cab bore them, and they were led by a

constable in attendance to a stone-paved, ill-lighted apartment in

which a swathed form lay upon a long deal table. The spectacle

presented, when the covering was removed, was one to have shocked

less hardened nerves than those of Stuart and Dunbar; but the duties

of a police officer, like those of a medical man, not infrequently

necessitate such inspections. The two bent over the tragic flotsam of

the Thames unmoved and critical.

"H'm," said Stuart--"he's about the build, certainly. Hair iron-grey

and close cropped and he seems to have worn a beard. Now, let us see."

He bent, making a close inspection of the skull; then turned and

shook his head.

"No, Inspector," he said definitely. "This is not the cabman. There is

no wound corresponding to the one which I dressed."

"Right," answered Dunbar, covering up the ghastly face. "That's

settled."

"You were wrong, Inspector. It was not Gaston Max who left the

envelope with me."

"No," mused Dunbar, "so it seems."

"Your theory that Max, jealously working alone, had left particulars

of his inquiries, and clues, in my hands, knowing that they would

reach Scotland Yard in the event of his death, surely collapsed when

the envelope proved to contain nothing but a bit of cardboard?"

"Yes--I suppose it did. But it sounded so much like Max's round-about

methods. Anyway I wanted to make sure that the dead man from Hanover

Hole and your mysterious cabman were not one and the same."

Stuart entertained a lively suspicion that Inspector Dunbar was keeping

something up his sleeve, but with this very proper reticence he had no

quarrel, and followed by the constable, who relocked the mortuary

behind them, they came out into the yard where the cab waited which

was to take them to Scotland Yard. Dunbar, standing with one foot upon

the step of the cab, turned to the constable.

"Has anyone else viewed the body?" he asked.

"No sir."

"No one is to be allowed to do so--you understand?--_no one_, unless

he has written permission from the Commissioner."

"Very good, sir."

Half an hour later they arrived at New Scotland Yard and went up to

Dunbar's room. A thick-set, florid man of genial appearance, having a

dark moustache, a breezy manner and a head of hair resembling a very

hard-worked blacking-brush, awaited them. This was Detective-Sargeant

Sowerby with whom Stuart was already acquainted.

"Good-morning, Sergeant Sowerby," he said.

"Good-morning, sir. I hear that someone was pulling your leg last

night."

"What do you mean exactly, Sowerby?" inquired Dunbar, fixing his

fierce eyes upon his subordinate.

Sergeant Sowerby exhibited confusion.

"I mean nothing offensive, Inspector. I was referring to the

joker who gave so good an imitation of my voice that even

_you_ were deceived."

"Ah," replied Dunbar--"I see. Yes--he did it well. He spoke just like

you. I could hardly make out a word he said."

With this Caledonian shaft and a side-glance at Stuart, Inspector

Dunbar sat down at the table.

"Here's Dr. Stuart's description of the missing cabman," he continued,

taking out his note-book. "Dr. Stuart has viewed the body and it is

not the man. You had better take a proper copy of this."

"Then the cabman wasn't Max?" cried Sowerby eagerly. "I thought not."

"I believe you told me so before," said Dunbar sourly. "I also seem to

recall that you thought a scorpion's tail was a Prickly Pear.

However--here, on the page numbered twenty-six, is a description of

the woman known as Mlle. Dorian. It should be a fairly easy matter to

trace the car through the usual channels, and she ought to be easy to

find, too."

He glanced at his watch. Stuart was standing by the lofty window

looking out across the Embankment.

"Ten o'clock," said Dunbar. "The Commissioner will be expecting us."

"I am ready," responded Stuart.

Leaving Sergeant Sowerby seated at the table studying the note-book,

Stuart and Dunbar proceeded to the smoke-laden room of the Assistant

Commissioner. The great man, suavely satanic, greeted Stuart with

that polished courtesy for which he was notable.

"You have been of inestimable assistance to us in the past, Dr.

Stuart," he said, "and I feel happy to know that we are to enjoy the

aid of your special knowledge in the present case. Will you smoke one

of my cigarettes? They are some which a friend is kind enough to

supply to me direct from Cairo, and are really quite good."

"Thanks," replied Stuart. "May I ask in what direction my services

are likely to prove available?"

The Commissioner lighted a fresh cigarette. Then from a heap of

correspondence he selected a long report typed upon blue foolscap.

"I have here," he said, "confirmation of the telegraphic report

received last night. The name of M. Gaston Max will no doubt be

familiar to you?"

Stuart nodded.

"Well," continued the Commissioner, "it appears that he has been

engaged in England for the past month endeavouring to trace the

connection which he claims to exist between the sudden deaths of

various notable people, recently--a list is appended--and some person

or organisation represented by, or associated with, a scorpion. His

personal theory not being available--poor fellow, you have heard of

his tragic death--I have this morning consulted such particulars as

I could obtain respecting these cases. If they were really cases of

assassination, some obscure poison was the only mode of death that

could possibly have been employed. Do you follow me?"

"Perfectly."

"Now, the death of Gaston Max under circumstances not yet explained,

would seem to indicate that his theory was a sound one. In other

words, I am disposed to believe that he himself represents the most

recent outrage of what we will call 'The Scorpion.' Even at the time

that the body of the man found by the River Police had not been

identified, the presence upon his person of a fragment of gold

strongly resembling the tail of a scorpion prompted me to instruct

Inspector Dunbar to consult you. I had determined upon a certain

course. The identification of the dead man with Gaston Max merely

strengthens my determination and enhances the likelihood of my idea

being a sound one."

He flicked the ash from his cigarette and resumed:

"Without mentioning names, the experts consulted in the other cases

which--according to the late Gaston Max--were victims of 'The

Scorpion,' do not seem to have justified their titles. I am arranging

that you shall be present at the autopsy upon the body of Gaston Max.

And now, permit me to ask you a question: are you acquainted with any

poison which would produce the symptoms noted in the case of Sir Frank

Narcombe, for instance?"

Stuart shook his head slowly.

"All that I know of the case," he said, "is that he was taken suddenly

ill in the foyer of a West-End theatre, immediately removed to his

house in Half Moon Street, and died shortly afterward. Can you give me

copies of the specialists' reports and other particulars? I may then

be able to form an opinion."

"I will get them for you," replied the Commissioner, the exact nature

of whose theory was by no means evident to Stuart. He opened a drawer.

"I have here," he continued, "the piece of cardboard and the envelope

left with you by the missing cab-man. Do you think there is any

possibility of invisible writing?"

"None," said Stuart confidently. "I have tested in three or four

places as you will see by the spots, but my experiments will in no way

interfere with those which no doubt your own people will want to make.

I have also submitted both surfaces to a microscopic examination. I am

prepared to state definitely that there is no writing upon the

cardboard, and except for the number, 30, none upon the envelope."

"It is only reasonable to suppose," continued the Commissioner, "that

the telephone message which led Inspector Dunbar to leave your house

last night was originated by that unseen intelligence against which we

find ourselves pitted. In the first place, no one in London, myself

and, presumably, 'The Scorpion' excepted, knew at that time that M.

Gaston Max was in England or that M. Gaston Max was dead. I say,

presumably 'The Scorpion' because it is fair to assume that the person

whom Max pursued was responsible for his death.

"Of course"--the Commissioner reached for the box of cigarettes--"were

it not for the telephone message, we should be unjustified in assuming

that Mlle. Dorian and this"--he laid his finger upon the piece of

cardboard--"had any connection with the case of M. Max. But the

message was so obviously designed to facilitate the purloining of the

sealed envelope and so obviously emanated from one already aware of

the murder of M. Max, that the sender is identified at once with--

'The Scorpion.'"

The Assistant Commissioner complacently lighted a fresh cigarette.

"Finally," he said, "the mode of death in the case of M. Max may not

have been the same as in the other cases. Therefore, Dr. Stuart"--he

paused impressively--"if you fail to detect anything suspicious at the

post mortem examination I propose to apply to the Home Secretary for

power to exhume the body of the late Sir Frank Narcombe!"

Deep in reflection, Stuart walked alone along the Embankment. The full

facts contained in the report from Paris the Commissioner had not

divulged, but Stuart concluded that this sudden activity was directly

due, not to the death of M. Max, but to the fact that he (Max) had

left behind him some more or less tangible clue. Stuart fully

recognized that the Commissioner had accorded him an opportunity to

establish his reputation--or to wreck it.

Yet, upon closer consideration, it became apparent that it was to

Fate and not to the Commissioner that he was indebted. Strictly

speaking, his association with the matter dated from the night of

his meeting with the mysterious cabman in West India Dock road. Or had

the curtain first been lifted upon this occult drama that evening,

five years ago, as the setting sun reddened the waters of the Imperial

Canal and a veiled figure passed him on the Wu-Men Bridge?

"Shut your eyes tightly, master--the Scorpion is coming!"

He seemed to hear the boy's words now, as he passed along the

Embankment; he seemed to see again the tall figure. And suddenly he

stopped, stood still and stared with unseeing eyes across the muddy

waters of the Thames. He was thinking of the cowled man who had stood

behind the curtains in his study--of that figure so wildly bizarre

that even now he could scarcely believe that he had ever actually seen

it. He walked on.

Automatically his reflections led him to Mlle. Dorian, and he

remembered that even as he paced along there beside the river the

wonderful mechanism of New Scotland Yard was in motion, its many

tentacles seeking--seeking tirelessly--for the girl, whose dark eyes

haunted his sleeping and waking hours. _He_ was responsible, and if

she were arrested _he_ would be called upon to identify her. He

condemned himself bitterly.

After all, what crime had she committed? She had tried to purloin a

letter--which did not belong to Stuart in the first place. And she had

failed. Now--the police were looking for her. His reflections took a

new form.

What of Gaston Max, foremost criminologist in Europe, who now lay dead

and mutilated in an East-End mortuary? The telephone message which had

summoned Dunbar away had been too opportune to be regarded as a mere

coincidence. Mlle. Dorian was, therefore, an accomplice of a murderer.

Stuart sighed. He would have given much--more than he was prepared to

admit to himself--to have known her to be guiltless.

The identity of the missing cabman now engaged his mind. It was quite

possible, of course, that the man had actually found the envelope in

his cab a was in no other way concerned in the matter. But how had

Mlle. Dorian, or the person instructing her, traced the envelope to

his study? And why, if they could establish a claim to it, had they

preferred to attempt to steal it? Finally, why all this disturbance

about a blank piece of cardboard?

A mental picture of the envelope arose before him, the number, 30,

written upon it and the two black seals securing the lapels. He paused

again in his walk. His reflections had led him to a second definite

point and he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a time, seeking a

certain brass coin about the size of a halfpenny, having a square hole

in the middle and peculiar characters engraved around the square, one

on each of the four sides.

He failed to find the coin in his pocket, however, but he walked

briskly up a side street until he came to the entrance to a tube

station. Entering a public telephone call-box, he asked for the

number, City 400. Being put through and having deposited the necessary

fee in the box:

"Is that the Commissioner's Office, New Scotland Yard?" he asked.

"Yes! My name is Dr. Keppel Stuart. If Inspector Dunbar is there,

would you kindly allow me to speak to him."

There was a short interval, then:

"Hullo!" came--"is that Dr. Stuart?"

"Yes. That you, Inspector? I have just remembered something which I

should have observed in the first place if I had been really wide-awake.

The envelope--you know the one I mean?--the one bearing the number, 30,

has been sealed with a Chinese coin, known as _cash_. I have just

recognized the fact and thought it wise to let you know at once."

"Are you sure?" asked Dunbar.

"Certain. If you care to call at my place later to-day I can show you

some _cash_. Bring the envelope with you and you will see that the

coins correspond to the impression in the wax. The inscriptions vary

in different provinces, but the form of all _cash_ is the same."

"Very good. Thanks for letting me know at once. It seems to establish

a link with China, don't you think?"

"It does, but it merely adds to the mystery."

Coming out of the call-box, Stuart proceeded home, but made one or

two professional visits before he actually returned to the house. He

now remembered having left his particular _cash_ piece (which he

usually carried) in his dispensary, which satisfactorily accounted

for his failure to find the coin in his waistcoat pocket. He had

broken the cork of a flask, and in the absence of another of correct

size had manufactured a temporary stopper with a small cork to the top

of which he had fixed the Chinese coin with a drawing-pin. His purpose

served he had left the extemporised stopper lying somewhere in the

dispensary.

Stuart's dispensary was merely a curtained recess at one end of the

waiting-room and shortly after entering the house he had occasion to

visit it. Lying upon a shelf among flasks and bottles was the Chinese

coin with the cork still attached. He took it up in order to study the

inscription. Then:

"Have I cultivated somnambulism!" he muttered.

Fragments of black sealing-wax adhered to the coin!

Incredulous and half fearful he peered at it closely. He remembered

that the impression upon the wax sealing the mysterious envelope had

had a circular depression in the centre. It had been made by the head

of the drawing-pin!

He found himself staring at the shelf immediately above that upon

which the coin had lain. A stick of black sealing-wax used for sealing

medicine was thrust in beside a bundle of long envelopes in which he

was accustomed to post his Infirmary reports!

One hand raised to his head, Stuart stood endeavouring to marshal his

ideas into some sane order. Then, knowing what he should find, he

raised the green baize curtain hanging from the lower shelf, which

concealed a sort of cupboard containing miscellaneous stores and not

a little rubbish, including a number of empty cardboard boxes.

A rectangular strip had been roughly cut from the lid of the topmost

box!

The mysterious envelope and its contents, the wax and the seal--all

had come from his own dispensary!

THE CHINESE COIN

Deep in reflection, Stuart walked alone along the Embankment. The full

facts contained in the report form Paris the Commissioner had not

divulged, but Stuart concluded that this sudden activity was directly

due, not to the death of M. Max, but to the fact that he (Max) had

left behind him some more or less tangible clue. Stuart fully

recognized that the Commissioner had accorded him an opportunity to

establish his reputation--or to wreck it.

Yet, upon closer consideration, it became apparent that it was to Fate

and not to the Commissioner that he was indebted. Strictly speaking,

his association with the matter dated from the night of his meeting

with the mysterious cabman in West India Dock Road. Or had the

curtain first been lifted upon this occult drama that evening, five

years ago, as the setting sun reddened the waters of the Imperial

Canal and a veiled figure passed him on the Wu-Men Bridge?

"Shut your eyes tightly, master--the Scorpion is coming!"

He seemed to hear the boy's words now, as he passed along the

Embankment; he seemed to see again the tall figure. And suddenly he

stopped, stood still and stared with unseeing eyes across the muddy

waters of the Thames. He was thinking of the cowled man who had stood

behind the curtains in his study--of that figure so wildly bizarre

that even now he could scarcely believe that he had ever actually seen

it. He walked on.

Automatically his reflections led him to Mlle. Dorian, and he

remembered that even as he paced along there beside the river the

wonderful mechanism of New Scotland Yard was in motion, its many

tentacles seeking--seeking tirelessly--for the girl, whose dark eyes

haunted his sleeping and waking hours. _He_ was responsible, and if

she were arrested _he_ would be called upon to identify her. He

condemned himself bitterly.

After all, what crime had she committed? She had tried to purloin a

letter--which did not belong to Stuart in the first place. And she had

failed. Now--the police were looking for her. His reflections took a

new form.

What of Gaston Max, foremost criminologist in Europe, who now lay dead

and mutilated in an East-End mortuary? The telephone message which had

summoned Dunbar away had been too opportune to be regarded as a mere

coincidence. Mlle. Dorian was, therefore, an accomplice of a murderer.

Stuart sighed. He would have given much--more than he was prepared to

admit to himself--to have known her to be guiltless.

The identity of the missing cabman now engaged his mind. It was quite

possible, of course, that the man had actually found the envelope in

his cab and was in no other way concerned in the matter. But how had

Mlle. Dorian, or the person instructing her, traced the envelope to

his study? And why, if they could establish a claim to it, had they

preferred to attempt to steal it? Finally, why all this disturbance

about a blank pieced of cardboard?

A mental picture of the envelope arose before him, the number, 30,

written upon it and the two black seals securing the lapels. He paused

again in his walk. His reflections had led him to a second definite

point and he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a time, seeking a

certain brass coin about the size of a halfpenny, having a square

hole in the middle and peculiar characters engraved around the

square, one on each of the four sides.

He failed to find the coin in his pocket, however, but he walked

briskly up a side street until he came to the entrance to a tube

station. Entering a public telephone call-box, he asked for the

number, City 400. Being put through and having deposited the necessary

fee in the box:

"Is that the Commissioner's Office, New Scotland Yard?" he asked.

"Yes! My name is Dr. Keppel Stuart. If Inspector Dunbar is there,

would you kindly allow me to speak to him."

There was a short interval, then:

"Hullo!" came--"is that Dr. Stuart?"

"Yes. That you, Inspector? I have just remembered something which I

should have observed in the first place if I had been really wide-awake.

The envelope--you know the one I mean?--the one bearing the number,

30, has been sealed with a Chinese coin, known as _cash._ I have just

recognized the fact and thought it wise to let you know at once."

"Are you sure?" asked Dunbar.

"Certain. If you care to call at my place later to-day I can show you

some _cash._ Bring the envelope with you and you will see that the

coins correspond to the impression in the wax. The inscriptions vary

in different provinces, but the form of all _cash_ is the same."

"Very good. Thanks for letting me know at once. It seems to establish

a link with China, don't you think?"

"It does, but it merely adds to the mystery."

Coming out of the call-box, Stuart proceeded home, but made one or two

professional visits before he actually returned to the house. He now

remembered having left this particular _cash_ piece (which he usually

carried) in his dispensary, which satisfactorily accounted fro his

failure to find the coin in his waistcoat pocket. He had broken the

cork of a flask, and in the absence of another of correct size had

manufactured a temporary stopper with a small cork to the top of which

he had fixed the Chinese coin with a drawing-pin. His purpose served

he had left the extemporized stopper somewhere in the dispensary.

Stuart's dispensary was merely a curtained recess at one end of the

waiting-room and shortly after entering the house he had occasion to

visit it. Lying upon a shelf among flasks and bottles was the Chinese

coin with the cork still attached. He took it up in order to study

the inscription. Then:

"Have I cultivated somnambulism!" he muttered.

Fragments of black sealing-wax adhered to the coin!

Incredulous and half fearful he peered at it closely. He remembered

that the impression upon the wax sealing the mysterious envelope had

had a circular depression in the centre. It had been made by the head

of the drawing-pin!

He found himself at the shelf immediately above that upon which the

coin had lain. A stick of black sealing wax used for sealing medicine

was thrust in beside a bundle of long envelopes in which he was

accustomed to post his Infirmary reports!

One hand raised to his head, Stuart stood endeavouring to marshal his

ideas into some sane order. Then, knowing what he should find, he

raised the green baize curtain hanging from the lower shelf, which

concealed a sort of cupboard containing miscellaneous stores and not

a little rubbish, including a number of empty cardboard boxes.

A rectangular strip had been roughly cut from the lid of the topmost

box!

The mysterious envelope and its contents, the wax and the seal--all

had come from his own dispensary!

Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.

0,0

3,75 ₼

Janr və etiketlər

Ədəbiyyatşünaslıq

Yaş həddi:

Həcm:

240 səh. 1 illustrasiya

ISBN:

9783753192086

Naşir:

neobooks

Müəllif hüququ sahibi:

Bookwire

Yükləmə formatı:

epub, fb2, fb3, ios.epub, mobi, pdf, txt, zip

Kitabı oxu: «The Golden Scorpion»

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

Janr və etiketlər

Bu kitabla oxuyurlar

Oxşar kitablar

Müəllifin digər kitabları