The Golden Scorpion | Page 8

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