Kitabı oku: «The Golden Scorpion», sayfa 2
THE SCORPION'S TAIL
Seating himself at the writing-table, Stuart began mechanically to
arrange his papers. Then from the tobacco jar he loaded his pipe,
but his manner remained abstracted. Yet he was not thinking of the
phantom piper but of Mlle. Dorian.
Until he had met this bewilderingly pretty woman he had thought that
his heart was for evermore proof against the glances of bright eyes.
Mademoiselle had disillusioned him. She was the most fragrantly lovely
creature he had ever met, and never for one waking moment since her
first visit, had he succeeded in driving her bewitching image from
his mind. He had tried to laugh at his own folly, then had grown angry
with himself, but finally had settled down to a dismayed acceptance
of a wild infatuation.
He had no idea who Mlle. Dorian was; he did not even know her exact
nationality, but he strongly suspected there was a strain of Eastern
blood in her veins. Although she was quite young, apparently little
more than twenty years of age, she dressed like a woman of unlimited
means, and although all her visits had been at night he had had
glimpses 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 his
hands and stared grimly into the fire--she had always come at night
and always alone. He had supposed her to be a Frenchwoman, but an
unmarried French girl of good family does not make late calls, even
upon a medical man, unattended. Had he perchance unwittingly made
himself a party to the escapade of some unruly member of a noble
family? 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 about
her any more!" he muttered angrily.
Detecting himself in the act of heaving a weary sigh, he coughed in
self-reproval and reached into a pigeon-hole for the MS. of his
unfinished paper on "Snake Poisons and Their Antidotes." By chance he
pulled out the brief account, written the same morning, of his uncanny
experience during the night. He read it through reflectively.
It was incomplete. A certain mental haziness which he had noted upon
awakening had in some way obscured the facts. His memory of the dream
had been imperfect. Even now, whilst recognizing that some feature of
the experience was missing from his written account, he could not
identify the omission. But one memory arose starkly before him--that
of the cowled man who had stood behind the curtains. It had power to
chill him yet. The old incredulity returned and methodically he
re-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 that
was worth stealing!" he said aloud. "I must avoid cold salmon and
cucumber 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 in
here."
There entered, shortly, a man of unusual height, a man gaunt and
square both of figure and of face. He wore his clothes and his hair
untidily. He was iron grey and a grim mouth was ill concealed by the
wiry moustache. The most notable features of a striking face were the
tawny leonine eyes, which could be fierce, which could be pensive and
which were often kindly.
"Good evening, doctor," he said--and his voice was pleasant and
unexpectedly 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 out
a long arm for the tobacco jar. "I came 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?"
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?"
"Well, I shouldn't have suggested your coming to the Yard if I hadn't
wanted to do that. As a matter of fact, this scorpion job seems to
resolve itself into a case of elaborate assassination by means of
some unknown poison; and although I should have come to see you in
any event, because you have helped me more than once, I came to-night
at the suggestion of the Commissioner. He instructed me to retain
your services if they were available."
"I am honoured," replied Stuart. "But after all, Inspector, I am
merely an ordinary suburban practitioner. My reputation has yet to
be made. What's the matter with Halesowen of Upper Wimpole Street?
He's the big man."
"And if Sir Frank Narcombe was really poisoned--as Paris seems to
think he was--he's also a big fool." retorted Dunbar bluntly. "He
agreed that death was due to heart trouble."
"I know he did; unsuspected ulcerative endocarditis. Perhaps he was
right."
"If he was right," said Dunbar, taking up the piece of gold from the
table, "what was Gaston Max doing with this thing in his possession?"
"There may be no earthly connection between Max's inquiries and the
death of Sir Frank."
"On the other hand--there may! Leaving Dr. Halesowen out of the
question, are you open to act as expert adviser in this case?"
"Certainly; delighted."
"Your fee is your own affair, doctor. I will communicate with you
later, if you wish, or call again in the morning."
Dunbar wrapped up the scorpion's tail in the piece of tissue paper
and was about to replace it in his note-case. Then:
"I'll leave this with you, doctor," he said. "I know it will be safe
enough, and you might like to examine it at greater leisure."
"Very well," replied Stuart. "Some of the engraving is very minute.
I will have a look at it through a glass later."
He took the fragment from Dunbar, who had again unwrapped it, and,
opening a drawer of the writing-table in which he kept his cheque-book
and some few other personal valuables, he placed the curious piece of
gold-work within and relocked the drawer.
"I will walk as far as the cab-rank with you," he said, finding
himself to be possessed of a spirit of unrest. Whereupon the two went
out of the room, Stuart extinguishing the lamps as he came to the
door.
They had not left the study for more than two minutes ere a car drew
up outside the house, and Mrs. M'Gregor ushered a lady into the room
but lately quitted by Stuart and Dunbar, turning up the lights as she
entered.
"The doctor has gone out but just now, Miss Dorian," she said stiffly.
"I am sorry that ye are so unfortunate in your veesits. But I know
he'll be no more than a few minutes."
The girl addressed was of a type fully to account for the misgivings
of the shrewd old Scotswoman. She had the slim beauty of the East
allied to the elegance of the West. Her features, whilst cast in a
charming European mould, at the same time suggested in some subtle
way the Oriental. She had the long, almond-shaped eyes of the Egyptian,
and her hair, which she wore unconventionally in a picturesque
fashion reminiscent of the _harem_, was inclined to be "fuzzy," but
gleamed with coppery tints where the light touched its waves.
She wore a cloak of purple velvet having a hooded collar of white fox
fur; it fastened with golden cords. Beneath it was a white and gold
robe, cut with classic simplicity of line and confined at the waist
by an ornate Eastern girdle. White stockings and dull gold shoes
exhibited to advantage her charming little feet and slim ankles, and
she carried a handbag of Indian beadwork. Mlle. Dorian was a figure
calculated to fire the imagination of any man and to linger long and
sweetly in the memory.
Mrs. M'Gregor, palpably ill at ease, conducted her to an armchair.
"You are very good," said the visitor, speaking with a certain
hesitancy and with a slight accent most musical and fascinating.
"I wait a while if I may."
"Dear, dear," muttered Mrs. M'Gregor, beginning to poke the fire, "he
has let the fire down, of course! Is it out? No ... I see a wee
sparkie!"
She set the poker upright before the nearly extinguished fire and
turned triumphantly to Mlle. Dorian, who was watching her with a
slight smile.
"That will be a comforting blaze in a few minutes, Miss Dorian," she
said, and went towards the door.
"If you please," called the girl, detaining her--"do you permit me to
speak on the telephone a moment? As Dr. Stuart is not at home, I must
explain that I wait for him."
"Certainly, Miss Dorian," replied Mrs. M'Gregor; "use the telephone
by all means. But I think the doctor will be back any moment now."
"Thank you so much."
Mrs. M'Gregor went out, not without a final backward glance at the
elegant figure in the armchair. Mlle. Dorian was seated, her chin
resting in her hand and her elbow upon the arm of the chair, gazing
into the smoke arising from the nearly extinguished ember of the fire.
The door closed, and Mrs. M'Gregor's footsteps could be heard receding
along the corridor.
Mlle. Dorian sprang from the chair and took out of her handbag a
number of small keys attached to a ring. Furtively she crossed the
room, all the time listening intently, and cast her cloak over the
back of the chair which was placed before the writing-table. Her robe
of white and gold clung to her shapely figure as she bent over the
table and tried three of the keys in the lock of the drawer which
contained Stuart's cheque-book and in which he had recently placed
the mysterious gold ornament. The third key fitted the lock, and Mlle.
Dorian pulled open the drawer. She discovered first the cheque-book
and next a private account-book; then from under the latter she drew
out a foolscap envelope sealed with red wax and bearing, in Stuart's
handwriting, the address:
Lost Property Office,
Metropolitan Police,
New Scotland Yard, S. W. I.
She uttered a subdued exclamation; then, as a spark of light gleamed
within the open drawer, she gazed as if stupefied at the little
ornament which she had suddenly perceived lying near the cheque-book.
She picked it up and stared at it aghast. A moment she hesitated;
then, laying down the fragment of gold and also the long envelope upon
the table, she took up the telephone. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the
closed door of the study, she asked for the number East 89512, and
whilst she waited for the connection continued that nervous watching
and listening. Suddenly she began to speak, in a low voice.
"Yes! ... Miska speaks. Listen! One of the new keys--it fits. I have
the envelope. But, also in the same drawer, I find a part of a broken
gold _'agrab_ (scorpion). Yes, it is broken. It must be they find it,
on him." Her manner grew more and more agitated. "Shall I bring it?
The envelope it is very large. I do not know if----"
From somewhere outside the house came a low, wailing cry--a cry which
Stuart, if he had heard it, must have recognized to be identical with
that which he had heard in the night--but which he had forgotten to
record in his written account.
"Ah!" whispered the girl--"there is the signal! It is the doctor who
returns." She listened eagerly, fearfully, to the voice which spoke
over the wires. "Yes--yes!"
Always glancing toward the door, she put down the instrument, took
up the long envelope and paused for a moment, thinking that she had
heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She exhibited signs of
nervous indecision, tried to thrust the envelope into her little bag
and realized that even folded it would not fit so as to escape
observation. She ran across to the grate and dropped the envelope
upon the smouldering fire. As she did so, the nicely balanced poker
fell with a clatter upon the tiled hearth.
She started wildly, ran back to the table, took up the broken ornament
and was about to thrust it into the open drawer, when the study door
was flung open and Stuart came in.
