The Golden Scorpion | Page 3

been touched. The casement curtains were drawn across the
recess formed by the French windows, and sunlight streamed in where, silhouetted
against the pallid illumination of the moon, he had seen the man in the cowl. Drawing
back the curtains, he examined the window fastenings. They were secure. If the window
had really been open in the night, he must have left it so himself.
"Well," muttered Stuart--"of all the amazing nightmares!"
He determined, immediately he had bathed and completed his toilet, to write an account
of the dream for the Psychical Research Society, in whose work he was interested. Half
an hour later, as the movements of an awakened household began to proclaim themselves,
he sat down at his writing-table and commenced to write.
Keppel Stuart was a dark, good-looking man of about thirty-two, an easy-going bachelor
who, whilst not over ambitious, was nevertheless a brilliant physician. He had worked for
the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine and had spent several years in India studying
snake poisons. His purchase of this humdrum suburban practice had been dictated by a
desire to make a home for a girl who at the eleventh hour had declined to share it. Two
years had elapsed since then, but the shadow still lay upon Stuart's life, its influence
being revealed in a certain apathy, almost indifference, which characterised his
professional conduct.
His account of the dream completed, he put the paper into a pigeon-hole and forgot all
about the matter. That day seemed to be more than usually dull and the hours to drag
wearily on. He was conscious of a sort of suspense. He was waiting for something, or for
someone. He did not choose to analyse this mental condition. Had he done so, the
explanation was simple--and one that he dared not face.
At about ten o'clock that night, having been called out to a case, he returned to his house,
walking straight into the study as was his custom and casting a light Burberry with a soft
hat upon the sofa beside his stick and bag. The lamps were lighted, and the book-lined
room, indicative of a studious and not over-wealthy bachelor, looked cheerful enough
with the firelight dancing on the furniture.
Mrs. M'Gregor, a grey-haired Scotch lady, attired with scrupulous neatness, was tending
the fire at the moment, and hearing Stuart come in she turned and glanced at him.
"A fire is rather superfluous to-night, Mrs. M'Gregor," he said. "I found it unpleasantly
warm walking."
"May is a fearsome treacherous month, Mr. Keppel," replied the old housekeeper, who
from long association with the struggling practitioner had come to regard him as a son.
"An' a wheen o' dry logs is worth a barrel o' pheesic. To which I would add that if ye're
hintin' it's time ye shed ye're woolsies for ye're summer wear, all I have to reply is that I
hope sincerely ye're patients are more prudent than yoursel'."
She placed his slippers in the fender and took up the hat, stick and coat from the sofa.
Stuart laughed.

"Most of the neighbors exhibit their wisdom by refraining from becoming patients of
mine, Mrs. M'Gregor."
"That's no weesdom; it's just preejudice." "Prejudice!" cried Stuart, dropping down upon
the sofa.
"Aye," replied Mrs. M'Gregor firmly--"preejudice! They're no' that daft but they're well
aware o' who's the cleverest physeecian in the deestrict, an' they come to nane other than
Dr. Keppel Stuart when they're sair sick and think they're dying; but ye'll never establish
the practice you desairve, Mr. Keppel--never--until--"
"Until when, Mrs. M'Gregor?"
"Until ye take heed of an auld wife's advice and find a new housekeeper."
"Mrs. M'Gregor!" exclaimed Stuart with concern. "You don't mean that you want to
desert me? After--let me see--how many years is it, Mrs. M'Gregor?"
"Thirty years come last Shrove Tuesday; I dandled ye on my knee, and eh! but ye were
bonny! God forbid, but I'd like to see ye thriving as ye desairve, and that ye'll never do
whilst ye're a bachelor."
"Oh!" cried Stuart, laughing again--"oh, that's it, is it? So you would like me to find some
poor inoffensive girl to share my struggles?"
Mrs. M'Gregor nodded wisely. "She'd have nane so many to share. I know ye think I'm
old-fashioned, Mr. Keppel and it may be I am; but I do assure you I would be sair
harassed, if stricken to my bed--which, please God, I won't be--to receive the veesits of a
pairsonable young bachelor--"
"Er--Mrs. M'Gregor!" interrupted Stuart, coughing in mock rebuke--"quite so! I fancy we
have discussed this point before, and as you say your ideas are a wee bit, just a wee bit,
behind the times. On this particular point I mean. But I am very grateful to you, very
sincerely grateful, for your disinterested