The Golden Scorpion

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?'

Chapter 4 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?'