The Golden Scorpion. Sax Rohmer
Читать онлайн книгу.
in his dream adventure, he had believed to have been
submitted to mysterious inspection. They showed no signs of having
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 kindness; and if ever I
should follow your advice----"
Mrs. M'Gregor interrupted him, pointing to his boots. "Ye're no' that
daft as to sit in wet boots?"
"Really they are perfectly dry. Except for a light shower this
evening, there has been no rain for several days. However, I may as
well, since I shall not be going out again."
He began to unlace his boots as Mrs. M'Gregor pulled the white
casement curtains across the windows and then prepared to retire. Her
hand upon the door knob, she turned again to Stuart.
"The foreign lady called half an hour since, Mr. Keppel."
Stuart desisted from unlacing his boots and looked up with lively
interest. "Mlle. Dorian! Did she leave any message?"
"She obsairved that she might