The Golden Scorpion | Page 7

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?"

CHAPTER IV

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