The Golden Scorpion

'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