The Golden Scorpion | Page 5

your care makes me feel like a boy again;
and in these grey days it's good to feel like a boy again. You think I am laughing at you,
but I'm not. The strange tradition of your family is associated with a tragedy in your life;

therefore I respect it. But have no fear with regard to Mlle. Dorian. In the first place she
is a patient; in the second--I am merely a penniless suburban practitioner. Good-night,
Mrs. M'Gregor. Don't think of waiting up. Tell Mary to show Mademoiselle in here
directly she arrives--that is if she really returns."
Mrs. M'Gregor stood up and walked slowly to the door. "I'll show Mademoiselle in
mysel', Mr. Keppel," she said,--"and show her out."
She closed the door very quietly.

CHAPTER III
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