The Golden Scorpion

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.

Chapter 6 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.'