The Golden Scorpion

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER III

  THE SCORPION'S TAIL

  Seating himself at the writing-table, Stuart began mechanically toarrange his papers. Then from the tobacco jar he loaded his pipe,but his manner remained abstracted. Yet he was not thinking of thephantom piper but of Mlle. Dorian.

  Until he had met this bewilderingly pretty woman he had thought thathis heart was for evermore proof against the glances of bright eyes.Mademoiselle had disillusioned him. She was the most fragrantly lovelycreature he had ever met, and never for one waking moment since herfirst visit, had he succeeded in driving her bewitching image fromhis mind. He had tried to laugh at his own folly, then had grown angrywith himself, but finally had settled down to a dismayed acceptanceof a wild infatuation.

  He had no idea who Mlle. Dorian was; he did not even know her exactnationality, but he strongly suspected there was a strain of Easternblood in her veins. Although she was quite young, apparently littlemore than twenty years of age, she dressed like a woman of unlimitedmeans, and although all her visits had been at night he had hadglimpses 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 hishands and stared grimly into the fire--she had always come at nightand always alone. He had supposed her to be a Frenchwoman, but anunmarried French girl of good family does not make late calls, evenupon a medical man, unattended. Had he perchance unwittingly madehimself a party to the escapade of some unruly member of a noblefamily? 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 abouther any more!" he muttered angrily.

  Detecting himself in the act of heaving a weary sigh, he coughed inself-reproval and reached into a pigeon-hole for the MS. of hisunfinished paper on "Snake Poisons and Their Antidotes." By chance hepulled out the brief account, written the same morning, of his uncannyexperience during the night. He read it through reflectively.

  It was incomplete. A certain mental haziness which he had noted uponawakening had in some way obscured the facts. His memory of the dreamhad been imperfect. Even now, whilst recognizing that some feature ofthe experience was missing from his written account, he could notidentify the omission. But one memory arose starkly before him--thatof the cowled man who had stood behind the curtains. It had power tochill him yet. The old incredulity returned and methodically here-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 thatwas worth stealing!" he said aloud. "I must avoid cold salmon andcucumber in future."

  He tossed the statement aside and turned to his scientific paper.

  There came knock at the door.

  "Come in!" snapped Stuart irritably; but the next moment he had turned,eager-eyed to the servant who had entered.

  "Inspector Dunbar has called, sir."

  "Oh, all right," said Stuart, repressing another sigh. "Show him inhere."

  There entered, shortly, a man of unusual height, a man gaunt andsquare both of figure and of face. He wore his clothes and his hairuntidily. He was iron grey and a grim mouth was ill concealed by thewiry moustache. The most notable features of a striking face were thetawny leonine eyes, which could be fierce, which could be pensive andwhich were often kindly.

  "Good evening, doctor," he said--and his voice was pleasant andunexpectedly light in tome. "Hope I don't intrude."

  "Not at all, Inspector," Stuart assured him.

  "Make yourself comfortable in the armchair and fill your pipe."

  "Thanks," said Dunbar. "I will." He took out his pipe and reached outa long arm for the tobacco jar. "I came to see if you could give me atip on a matter that has cropped up."

  "Something in my line?" asked Stuart, a keen professional look comingmomentarily 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 ofpoisons had been of service in the past; "but if what I suspect istrue, it's a very big case all the same."

  Laying down his pipe, which he had filled but not lighted, InspectorDunbar pulled out from the inside pocket of his tweed coat a bulgingnote-book and extracted therefrom some small object wrapped up intissue 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 ofcuriously shaped gold, cunningly engraved in a most unusual way.Rather less than an inch in length, it formed a crescent made up ofsix oval segments joined one to another, the sixth terminating in acurled point. The first and largest segment ended jaggedly where ithad evidently been snapped off from the rest of the ornament--if thething had formed part of an ornament. Stuart looked up, frowning ina puzzled way.

  "It is a most curious fragment of jewellery--possibly of Indianorigin," he said.

  Inspector Dunbar lighted his pipe and tossed the match-end into thefire. "But what does it represent?" he asked.

  "Oh, as to that--I said a _curious_ fragment advisedly, because Icannot imagine any woman wearing such a beastly thing. It is the _tailof a scorpion._"

  "Ah!" cried Dunbar, the tawny eyes glittering with excitement. "Thetail of a scorpion! I thought so! And Sowerby would have it that itrepresented the stem of a Cactus or Prickly Pear!"

  "Not so bad a guess," replied Stuart. "There _are_ resemblances--notin the originals but in such a miniature reproduction as this. He waswrong, 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'stail I know that I'm out of my depth as well. You've travelled inthe East and lived in the East--two very different things. Now, whileyou were out there, in India, China, Burma, and so on, did you evercome across a religion or a cult that worshipped scorpions?"

  Stuart frowned thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with the mouthpiece ofhis 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 hebusied himself with syphon and decanter. Presently he returned,carrying two full glasses, one of which he set before Stuart. "What'sthe answer, doctor?" he asked.

  "The answer is _no_. I am not acquainted with any sect ofscorpion-worshippers, Inspector. But I once met with a curiousexperience at Su-Chow in China, which I have never been able toexplain, but which may interest you. It wanted but a few minutes tosunset, and I was anxious to get back to my quarters before dusk fell.Therefore I hurried up my boy, who was drawing the rickshaw, tellinghim to cross the Canal by the Wu-men Bridge. He ran fleetly in thatdirection, and we were actually come to the steep acclivity of thebridge, when suddenly the boy dropped the shafts and fell down on hisknees, hiding his face in his hands.

  "'Shut your eyes tightly, master!' he whispered. 'The Scorpion iscoming!'

  "I stared down at him in amazement, as was natural, and not a littleangrily; for his sudden action had almost pitched me on my head. Butthere he crouched, immovable, and staring up the slope I say that itwas entirely deserted except for one strange figure at that momentcrossing the crown of the bridge and approaching. It was the figureof a tall and dignified Chinaman, or of one who wore the dress of aChinaman. For the extra-ordinary thing about the stranger's appearancewas 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 wasimpossible to discern the stranger's features through the thick gauze,although he
passed quite close to me. He had not proceeded anotherthree paces, I should think, before my boy had snatched up the shaftsand darted across the bridge as though all hell were after him! Here'sthe odd thing, though; I could never induce him to speak a word on thesubject afterwards! I bullied him and bribed him, but all to nopurpose. And although I must have asked more than a hundred Chinamenin every station of society from mandarin to mendicant, 'Who or whatis _The Scorpion?_' one and all looked stupid, blandly assuring methat they did not know what I meant."

  "H'm!" said Dunbar, "it's a queer yarn, certainly. How long ago wouldthat 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 outeverywhere in the press, in buffets, theatres, but particularly incriminal quarters, for any reference (of any kind whatever) to ascorpion. I was so puzzled that I saw the Commissioner about it,and he could tell me next to nothing. He said the word had comethrough from Paris, but that Paris seemed to know no more about itthan we did. It was associated in some way with the sudden deaths ofseveral notable public men about that time; but as there was noevidence of foul play in any of the cases, I couldn't see what itmeant at all. Then, six weeks ago, Sir Frank Narcombe, the surgeon,fell dead in the foyer of a West-End theatre--you remember?"