The Golden Scorpion. Sax Rohmer
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car reached his ears. By the time
that he had reached the front of the house the street was vacant from
end to end. He walked up the steps to the front door, which he
unfastened with his latch-key. As he entered the hall, Mrs. M'Gregor
appeared from her room.
"I did no' hear ye go out with Miss Dorian," she said.
"That's quite possible, Mrs. M'Gregor, but she has gone, you see."
"Now tell me, Mr. Keppel, did ye or did ye no' hear the wail o' the
pibroch the night?
"No--I am afraid I cannot say that I did, Mrs. M'Gregor," replied
Stuart patiently. "I feel sure you must be very tired and you can
justifiably turn in now. I am expecting no other visitor. Good-night."
Palpably dissatisfied and ill at ease, Mrs. M'Gregor turned away.
"Good-night, Mr. Keppel," she said.
Stuart, no longer able to control his impatience, hurried to the study
door, unlocked it and entered. Turning on the light, he crossed and
hastily drew the curtains over the window recess, but without
troubling to close the window which he had opened. Then he returned
to the writing-table and took up the sealed envelope whose presence
in his bureau was clearly responsible for the singular visitation of
the cowled man and for the coming of the lovely Mlle. Dorian.
The "pibroch of the M'Gregors": He remembered something--something
which, unaccountably, he hitherto had failed to recall: that fearful
wailing in the night--which had heralded the coming of the cowled
man!--or had it been a _signal_ of some kind?
He stared at the envelope blankly, then laid it down and stood looking
for some time at the golden scorpion's tail. Finally, his hands
resting upon the table, he found that almost unconsciously he had
been listening--listening to the dim night sounds of London and to
the vague stirrings within the house.
"_Now_, you are in danger. Before, you were not...."
Could he believe her? If in naught else, in this at least surely she
had been sincere? Stuart started--then laughed grimly.
A clock on the mantel-piece had chimed the half-hour.
THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Detective-Inspector Dunbar arrived at New Scotland Yard in a veritable
fever of excitement. Jumping out of the cab he ran into the building
and without troubling the man in charge of the lift went straight on
upstairs to his room. He found it to be in darkness and switched on
the green-shaded lamp which was suspended above the table. Its light
revealed a bare apartment having distempered walls severely decorated
by an etching of a former and unbeautiful Commissioner. The blinds
were drawn. A plain, heavy deal table (bearing a blotting-pad, a
pewter ink-pot, several pens and a telephone), together with three
uncomfortable chairs, alone broke the expanse of highly polished
floor. Dunbar glanced at the table and then stood undecided in the
middle of the bare room, tapping his small, widely separated teeth
with a pencil which he had absently drawn from his waistcoat pocket.
He rang the bell.
A constable came in almost immediately and stood waiting just inside
the door.
"When did Sergeant Sowerby leave?" asked Dunbar.
"About three hours ago, sir."
"What!" cried Dunbar. "Three hours ago! But I have been here myself
within that time--in the Commissioner's office."
"Sergeant Sowerby left before then. I saw him go."
"But, my good fellow, he has been back again. He spoke to me on the
telephone less than a quarter of an hour ago."
"Not from here, sir."
"But I say it _was_ from here!" shouted Dunbar fiercely; "and I told
him to wait for me."
"Very good, sir. Shall I make inquiries?"
"Yes. Wait a minute. Is the Commissioner here?"
"Yes, sir, I believe so. At least I have not seen him go."
"Find Sergeant Sowerby and tell him to wait here for me," snapped
Dunbar.
He walked out into the bare corridor and along to the room of the
Assistant Commissioner. Knocking upon the door, he opened it
immediately, and entered an apartment which afforded a striking
contrast to his own. For whereas the room of Inspector Dunbar was
practically unfurnished, that of his superior was so filled with
tables, cupboards, desks, bureaux, files, telephones, bookshelves
and stacks of documents that one only discovered the Assistant
Commissioner sunk deep in a padded armchair and a cloud of tobacco
smoke by dint of close scrutiny. The Assistant Commissioner was small,
sallow and satanic. His black moustache was very black and his eyes
were of so dark a brown as to appear black also. When he smiled he
revealed a row of very large white teeth, and his smile was correctly
Mephistophelean. He smoked a hundred and twenty Egyptian cigarettes
per diem, and the first and second fingers of either hand were
coffee-coloured.
"Good-evening, Inspector," he said courteously. "You come at an
opportune moment." He lighted a fresh cigarette. "I was detained here
unusually late to-night or this news would not have reached us till
the morning." He laid his finger upon a yellow form. "There is an
unpleasant development in 'The Scorpion' case."
"So I gather, sir. That is what brought me back to the Yard."
The Assistant Commissioner glanced up sharply.
"What brought you back to the Yard?" he asked.
"The news about Max."
The assistant Commissioner leaned back in his chair. "Might I ask,
Inspector," he said, "what news you have learned and how you have
learned it?"
Dunbar stared uncomprehendingly.