The Golden Scorpion | Page 2

a nightmare and that this fiendish wailing was no
more than an unusually delayed aftermath of the imaginary horrors which had bathed him
in cold perspiration.
He walked resolutely to the door, threw it open and cast the beam of light on to the
staircase. Softly he began to descend. Before the study door he paused. There was no
sound. He threw open the door, directing the torch-ray into the room.
Cutting a white lane through the blackness, it shone fully upon his writing-table, which
was a rather fine Jacobean piece having a sort of quaint bureau superstructure containing
cabinets and drawers. He could detect nothing unusual in the appearance of the littered
table. A tobacco jar stood there, a pipe resting in the lid. Papers and books were scattered
untidily as he had left them, surrounding a tray full of pipe and cigarette ash. Then,
suddenly, he saw something else.
One of the bureau drawers was half opened.
Stuart stood quite still, staring at the table. There was no sound in the room. He crossed
slowly, moving the light from right to left. His papers had been overhauled methodically.
The drawers had been replaced, but he felt assured that all had been examined. The light
switch was immediately beside the outer door, and Stuart walked over to it and switched
on both lamps. Turning, he surveyed the brilliantly illuminated room. Save for himself, it
was empty. He looked out into the hallway again. There was no one there. No sound
broke the stillness. But that consciousness of some near presence asserted itself
persistently and uncannily.
"My nerves are out of order!" he muttered. "No one has touched my papers. I must have
left the drawer open myself."
He switched off the light and walked across to the door. He had actually passed out
intending to return to his room, when he became aware of a slight draught. He stopped.
Someone or something, evil and watchful, seemed to be very near again. Stuart turned
and found himself gazing fearfully in the direction of the open study door. He became

persuaded anew that someone was hiding there, and snatching up an ash stick which lay
upon a chair in the hall he returned to the door. One step into the room he took and
paused--palsied with a sudden fear which exceeded anything he had known.
A white casement curtain was drawn across the French windows ... and outlined upon
this moon-bright screen he saw a tall figure. It was that of a cowled man!
Such an apparition would have been sufficiently alarming had the cowl been that of a
monk, but the outline of this phantom being suggested that of one of the Misericordia
brethren or the costume worn of old by the familiars of the Inquisition!
His heart leapt wildly, and seemed to grow still. He sought to cry out in his terror, but
only emitted a dry gasping sound.
The psychology of panic is obscure and has been but imperfectly explored. The presence
of the terrible cowled figure afforded a confirmation of Stuart's theory that he was the
victim of a species of waking nightmare.
Even as he looked, the shadow of the cowled man moved--and was gone.
Stuart ran across the room, jerked open the curtains and stared out across the
moon-bathed lawn, its prospect terminated by high privet hedges. One of the French
windows was wide open. There was no one on the lawn; there was no sound.
"Mrs. M'Gregor swears that I always forget to shut these windows at night!" he muttered.
He closed and bolted the window, stood for a moment looking out across the empty lawn,
then turned and went out of the room.

CHAPTER II
THE PIBROCH OF THE M'GREGORS
Dr. Stuart awoke in the morning and tried to recall what had occurred during the night.
He consulted his watch and found the hour to be six a. m. No one was stirring in the
house, and he rose and put on a bath robe. He felt perfectly well and could detect no
symptoms of nervous disorder. Bright sunlight was streaming into the room, and he went
out on to the landing, fastening the cord of his gown as he descended the stairs.
His study door was locked, with the key outside. He remembered having locked it.
Opening it, he entered and looked about him. He was vaguely disappointed. Save for the
untidy litter of papers upon the table, the study was as he had left it on retiring. If he
could believe the evidence of his senses, nothing had been disturbed.
Not content with a casual inspection, he particularly examined those papers which, in his
dream adventure, he had believed to have been submitted to mysterious inspection. They

showed no signs of having