The Golden Scorpion

envelope only notable by reason of the number, 30, appearing in large

red figures upon it and because it was sealed with black wax bearing

a weird-looking device:

Stuart bent over him intently as he slit this envelope in turn. Again,

he inserted two fingers--and brought forth the sole contents... a

plain piece of cardboard, roughly rectangular and obviously cut in

haste from the lid of a common cardboard box!

THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER'S THEORY

On the following morning Inspector Dunbar, having questioned Mrs.

M'Gregor respecting the car in which Mlle. Dorian had visited the

house and having elicited no other evidence than that it was "a fine

luxurious concern," the Inspector and Dr. Stuart prepared to set out

upon gruesome business. Mrs. M'Gregor was very favourably impressed

with the Inspector. "A grand, pairsonable body," she confided to

Stuart. "He'd look bonny in the kilt."

To an East-End mortuary the cab bore them, and they were led by a

constable in attendance to a stone-paved, ill-lighted apartment in

which a swathed form lay upon a long deal table. The spectacle

presented, when the covering was removed, was one to have shocked

less hardened nerves than those of Stuart and Dunbar; but the duties

of a police officer, like those of a medical man, not infrequently

necessitate such inspections. The two bent over the tragic flotsam of

the Thames unmoved and critical.

"H'm," said Stuart--"he's about the build, certainly. Hair iron-grey

and close cropped and he seems to have worn a beard. Now, let us see."

He bent, making a close inspection of the skull; then turned and

shook his head.

"No, Inspector," he said definitely. "This is not the cabman. There is

no wound corresponding to the one which I dressed."

"Right," answered Dunbar, covering up the ghastly face. "That's

settled."

"You were wrong, Inspector. It was not Gaston Max who left the

envelope with me."

"No," mused Dunbar, "so it seems."

"Your theory that Max, jealously working alone, had left particulars

of his inquiries, and clues, in my hands, knowing that they would

reach Scotland Yard in the event of his death, surely collapsed when

the envelope proved to contain nothing but a bit of cardboard?"

"Yes--I suppose it did. But it sounded so much like Max's round-about

methods. Anyway I wanted to make sure that the dead man from Hanover

Hole and your mysterious cabman were not one and the same."

Stuart entertained a lively suspicion that Inspector Dunbar was keeping

something up his sleeve, but with this very proper reticence he had no

quarrel, and followed by the constable, who relocked the mortuary

behind them, they came out into the yard where the cab waited which

was to take them to Scotland Yard. Dunbar, standing with one foot upon

the step of the cab, turned to the constable.

"Has anyone else viewed the body?" he asked.

"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 bizarre

that even now he could scarcely believe that he had ever actually seen

it. He walked on.

Automatically his reflections led him to Mlle. Dorian, and he

remembered that even as he paced along there beside the river the

wonderful mechanism of New Scotland Yard was in motion, its many

tentacles seeking--seeking tirelessly--for the girl, whose dark eyes

haunted his sleeping and waking hours. _He_ was responsible, and if

she were arrested _he_ would be called upon to identify her. He

condemned himself bitterly.

After all, what crime had she committed? She had tried to purloin a

letter--which did not belong to Stuart in the first place. And she had

failed. Now--the police were looking for her. His reflections took a

new form.

What of Gaston Max, foremost criminologist in Europe, who now lay dead

and mutilated in an East-End mortuary? The telephone message which had

summoned Dunbar away had been too opportune to be regarded as a mere

coincidence. Mlle. Dorian was, therefore, an accomplice of a murderer.

Stuart sighed. He would have given much--more than he was prepared to

admit to himself--to have known her to be guiltless.

The identity of the missing cabman now engaged his mind. It was quite

possible, of course, that the man had actually found the envelope in

his cab a was in no other way concerned in the matter. But how had

Mlle. Dorian, or the person instructing her, traced the envelope to

his study? And why, if they could establish a claim to it, had they

preferred to attempt to steal it? Finally, why all this disturbance

about a blank piece of cardboard?

A mental picture of the envelope arose before him, the number, 30,

written upon it and the two black seals securing the lapels. He paused

again in his walk. His reflections had led him to a second definite

point and he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a time, seeking a

certain brass coin about the size of a halfpenny, having a square hole

in the middle and peculiar characters engraved around the square, one

on each of the four sides.

He failed to find the coin in his pocket, however, but he walked

briskly up a side street until he came to the entrance to a tube

station. Entering a public telephone call-box, he asked for the

number, City 400. Being put through and having deposited the necessary

fee in the box:

"Is that the Commissioner's Office, New Scotland Yard?" he asked.

"Yes! My name is Dr. Keppel Stuart. If Inspector Dunbar is there,

would you kindly allow me to speak to him."

There was a short interval, then:

"Hullo!" came--"is that Dr. Stuart?"

"Yes. That you, Inspector? I have just remembered something which I

should have observed in the first place if I had been really wide-awake.

The envelope--you know the one I mean?--the one bearing the number, 30,

has been sealed with a Chinese coin, known as _cash_. I have just

recognized the fact and thought it wise to let you know at once."

"Are you sure?" asked Dunbar.

"Certain. If you care to call at my place later to-day I can show you

some _cash_. Bring the envelope with you and you will see that the

coins correspond to the impression in the wax. The inscriptions vary

in different provinces, but the form of all _cash_ is the same."

"Very good. Thanks for letting me know at once. It seems to establish

a link with China, don't you think?"

"It does, but it merely adds to the mystery."

Coming out of the call-box, Stuart proceeded home, but made one or

two professional visits before he actually returned to the house. He

now remembered having left his particular _cash_ piece (which he

usually carried) in his dispensary, which satisfactorily accounted

for his failure to find the coin in his waistcoat pocket. He had

broken the cork of a flask, and in the absence of another of correct

size had manufactured a temporary stopper with a small cork to the top

of which he had fixed the Chinese coin with a drawing-pin. His purpose

served he had left the extemporised stopper lying somewhere in the

dispensary.

Stuart's dispensary was merely a curtained recess at one end of the

waiting-room and shortly after entering the house he had occasion to

visit it. Lying upon a shelf among flasks and bottles was the Chinese

coin with the cork still attached. He took it up in order to study the

inscription. Then:

"Have I cultivated somnambulism!" he muttered.

Fragments of black sealing-wax adhered to the coin!

Incredulous and half fearful he peered at it closely. He remembered

that the impression upon the wax sealing the mysterious envelope had

had a circular depression in the centre. It had been made by the head

of the drawing-pin!

He found himself staring at the shelf immediately above that upon

which the coin had lain. A stick of black sealing-wax used for sealing

medicine was thrust in beside a bundle of long envelopes in which he

was accustomed to post his Infirmary reports!

One hand raised to his head, Stuart stood endeavouring to marshal his

ideas into some sane order. Then, knowing what he should find, he

raised the green baize curtain hanging from the lower shelf, which

concealed a sort of cupboard containing miscellaneous stores and not

a little rubbish, including a number of empty cardboard boxes.

A rectangular strip had been roughly cut from the lid of the topmost

box!

The mysterious envelope and its contents, the wax and the seal--all

had come from his own dispensary!

THE CHINESE COIN

Deep in reflection, Stuart walked alone along the Embankment. The full

facts contained in the report form 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 bizarre

that even now he could scarcely believe that he had ever actually seen

it. He walked on.

Automatically his reflections led him to Mlle. Dorian, and he

remembered that even as he paced along there beside the river the

wonderful mechanism of New Scotland Yard was in motion, its many

tentacles seeking--seeking tirelessly--for the girl, whose dark eyes

haunted his sleeping and waking hours. _He_ was responsible, and if

she were arrested _he_ would be called upon to identify her. He

condemned himself bitterly.

After all, what crime had she committed? She had tried to purloin a

letter--which did not belong to Stuart in the first place. And she had

failed. Now--the police were looking for her. His reflections took a

new form.

What of Gaston Max, foremost criminologist in Europe, who now lay dead

and mutilated in an East-End mortuary? The telephone message which had

summoned Dunbar away had been too opportune to be regarded as a mere

coincidence. Mlle. Dorian was, therefore, an accomplice of a murderer.

Stuart sighed. He would have given much--more than he was prepared to

admit to himself--to have known her to be guiltless.

The identity of the missing cabman now engaged his mind. It was quite

possible, of course, that the man had actually found the envelope in

his cab and was in no other way concerned in the matter. But how had

Mlle. Dorian, or the person instructing her, traced the envelope to

his study? And why, if they could establish a claim to it, had they

preferred to attempt to steal it? Finally, why all this disturbance

about a blank pieced of cardboard?

A mental picture of the envelope arose before him, the number, 30,

written upon it and the two black seals securing the lapels. He paused

again in his walk. His reflections had led him to a second definite

point and he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a time, seeking a

certain brass coin about the size of a halfpenny, having a square

hole in the middle and peculiar characters engraved around the

square, one on each of the four sides.

He failed to find the coin in his pocket, however, but he walked

briskly up a side street until he came to the entrance to a tube

station. Entering a public telephone call-box, he asked for the

number, City 400. Being put through and having deposited the necessary

fee in the box:

"Is that the Commissioner's Office, New Scotland Yard?" he asked.

"Yes! My name is Dr. Keppel Stuart. If Inspector Dunbar is there,

would you kindly allow me to speak to him."

There was a short interval, then:

"Hullo!" came--"is that Dr. Stuart?"

"Yes. That you, Inspector? I have just remembered something which I

should have observed in the first place if I had been really wide-awake.

The envelope--you know the one I mean?--the one bearing the number,

30, has been sealed with a Chinese coin, known as _cash._ I have just

recognized the fact and thought it wise to let you know at once."

"Are you sure?" asked Dunbar.

"Certain. If you care to call at my place later to-day I can show you

some _cash._ Bring the envelope with you and you will see that the

coins correspond to the impression in the wax. The inscriptions vary

in different provinces, but the form of all _cash_ is the same."

"Very good. Thanks for letting me know at once. It seems to establish

a link with China, don't you think?"

"It does, but it merely adds to the mystery."

Coming out of the call-box, Stuart proceeded home, but made one or two

professional visits before he actually returned to the house. He now

remembered having left this particular _cash_ piece (which he usually

carried) in his dispensary, which satisfactorily accounted fro his

failure to find the coin in his waistcoat pocket. He had broken the

cork of a flask, and in the absence of another of correct size had

manufactured a temporary stopper with a small cork to the top of which

he had fixed the Chinese coin with a drawing-pin. His purpose served

he had left the extemporized stopper somewhere in the dispensary.

Stuart's dispensary was merely a curtained recess at one end of the

waiting-room and shortly after entering the house he had occasion to

visit it. Lying upon a shelf among flasks and bottles was the Chinese

coin with the cork still attached. He took it up in order to study

the inscription. Then:

"Have I cultivated somnambulism!" he muttered.

Fragments of black sealing-wax adhered to the coin!

Incredulous and half fearful he peered at it closely. He remembered

that the impression upon the wax sealing the mysterious envelope had

had a circular depression in the centre. It had been made by the head

of the drawing-pin!

He found himself at the shelf immediately above that upon which the

coin had lain. A stick of black sealing wax used for sealing medicine

was thrust in beside a bundle of long envelopes in which he was

accustomed to post his Infirmary reports!

One hand raised to his head, Stuart stood endeavouring to marshal his

ideas into some sane order. Then, knowing what he should find, he

raised the green baize curtain hanging from the lower shelf, which

concealed a sort of cupboard containing miscellaneous stores and not

a little rubbish, including a number of empty cardboard boxes.

A rectangular strip had been roughly cut from the lid of the topmost

box!

The mysterious envelope and its contents, the wax and the seal--all

had come from his own dispensary!