Sax Rohmer - The Golden Scorpion

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.