Sax Rohmer - The Golden Scorpion

"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.

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.