The Golden Scorpion. Sax Rohmer
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you are a petty thief?"
"Ah! you are cruel--you have no pity! You judge me as you judge--one
of your Englishwomen. Perhaps I cannot help what I do. In the East a
woman is a chattel and has no will of her own."
"A chattel!" cried Stuart scornfully. "Your resemblance to the
'chattels' of the East is a remote one. There is Eastern blood in
your veins, no doubt, but you are educated, you are a linguist, you
know the world. Right and wrong are recognizable to the lowest savage."
"And if they recognize, but are helpless?"
Stuart made a gesture of impatience.
"You are simply seeking to enlist my sympathy," he said bitterly.
"But you have said nothing which inclines me to listen to you any
longer. Apart from the shock of finding you to be--what you are, I
am utterly mystified as to your object. I am a poor man. The entire
contents of my house would fetch only a few hundred pounds if sold
to-morrow. Yet you risk your liberty to rifle my bureau. For the last
time--what have you taken from that drawer?"
She leaned back against the table, toying with the broken piece of
gold and glancing down at it as she did so. Her long lashes cast
shadows below her eyes, and a hint of colour was returning to her
cheeks. Stuart studied her attentively--even delightedly, for all
her shortcomings, and knew in his heart that he could never give her
in charge of the police. More and more the wonder of it all grew upon
him, and now he suddenly found himself thinking of the unexplained
incident of the previous night.
"You do not answer," he said. "I will ask you another question: have
you attempted to open that drawer prior to this evening?"
Mlle. Dorian looked up rapidly, and her cheeks, which had been pale,
now flushed rosily.
"I try twice before," she confessed, "and cannot open it."
"Ah! And--has _someone else_ tried also?"
Instantly her colour fled again, and she stared at him wide-eyed,
fearful.
"Someone else?" she whispered.
"Yes--someone else. A man ... wearing a sort of cowl----"
"Oh?" she cried and threw out her hands in entreaty. "Do not ask me of
_him_! I dare not answer--I dare not!"
"You have answered," said Stuart, in a voice unlike his own; for a
horrified amazement was creeping upon him and supplanting the
contemptuous anger which the discovery of this beautiful girl engaged
in pilfering his poor belongings had at first aroused.
The mystery of her operations was explained--explained by a deeper
and a darker mystery. The horror of the night had been no dream but
an almost incredible reality. He now saw before him an agent of the
man in the cowl; he perceived that he was in some way entangled in an
affair vastly more complex and sinister than a case of petty larceny.
"Has the golden scorpion anything to do with the matter?" he demanded
abruptly.
And in the eyes of his beautiful captive he read the answer. She
flinched again as she had done when he had taunted her with being a
thief; but he pressed his advantage remorselessly.
"So you were concerned in the death of Sir Frank Narcombe!" he said.
"I was not!" she cried at him fiercely, and her widely opened eyes
were magnificent. "Sir Frank Narcombe is----"
She faltered--and ceased speaking, biting her lip which had become
tremulous again.
"Sir Frank Narcombe is?" prompted Stuart, feeling himself to stand
upon the brink of a revelation.
"I know nothing of him--this Sir Frank Narcombe."
Stuart laughed unmirthfully.
"Am I, by any chance, in danger of sharing the fate of that
distinguished surgeon?" he asked.
His question produced an unforeseen effect. Mlle. Dorian suddenly
rested her jewelled hands upon his shoulders, and he found himself
looking hungrily into those wonderful Eastern eyes.
"If I swear that I speak the truth, will you believe me?" she
whispered, and her fingers closed convulsively upon his shoulders.
He was shaken. Her near presence was intoxicating. "Perhaps," he said
unsteadily.
"Listen, then. _Now_ you are in danger, yes. Before, you were not, but
now you must be very careful. Oh! indeed, indeed, I tell you true! I
tell you for your own sake. Do with me what you please. I do not care.
It does not matter. You ask me why I come here. I tell you that also.
I come for what is in the long envelope--look, I cannot hide it. It
is on the fire!"
Stuart turned and glanced toward the grate. A faint wisp of brown
smoke was arising from a long white envelope which lay there. Had the
fire been actually burning, it must long ago have been destroyed.
More than ever mystified, for the significance of the envelope was
not evident to him, he ran to the grate and plucked the smouldering
paper from the embers.
As he did so, the girl, with one quick glance in his direction,
snatched her cloak, keys and bag and ran from the room. Stuart heard
the door close, and racing back to the table he placed the slightly
charred envelope there beside the fragment of gold and leapt to the
door.
"Damn!" he said.
His escaped prisoner had turned the key on the outside. He was locked
in his own study!
Momentarily nonplussed, he stood looking at the closed door. The sound
of a restarted motor from outside the house spurred him to action. He
switched off the lamps, crossed the darkened room and drew back the
curtain, throwing open the French windows. Brilliant moonlight bathed
the little lawn with its bordering of high privet hedges. Stuart ran
out as the sound of the receding