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across a religion or a cult that worshipped scorpions?"

      Stuart frowned thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with the mouthpiece of

      his pipe. Dunbar watched him expectantly.

      "Help yourself to whiskey-and-soda, Inspector," said Stuart absently.

      "You'll find everything on the side-table yonder. I'm thinking."

      Inspector Dunbar nodded, stood up and crossed the room, where he

      busied himself with syphon and decanter. Presently he returned,

      carrying two full glasses, one of which he set before Stuart. "What's

      the answer, doctor?" he asked.

      "The answer is _no_. I am not acquainted with any sect of

      scorpion-worshippers, Inspector. But I once met with a curious

      experience at Su-Chow in China, which I have never been able to

      explain, but which may interest you. It wanted but a few minutes to

      sunset, and I was anxious to get back to my quarters before dusk fell.

      Therefore I hurried up my boy, who was drawing the rickshaw, telling

      him to cross the Canal by the Wu-men Bridge. He ran fleetly in that

      direction, and we were actually come to the steep acclivity of the

      bridge, when suddenly the boy dropped the shafts and fell down on his

      knees, hiding his face in his hands.

      "'Shut your eyes tightly, master!' he whispered. 'The Scorpion is

      coming!'

      "I stared down at him in amazement, as was natural, and not a little

      angrily; for his sudden action had almost pitched me on my head. But

      there he crouched, immovable, and staring up the slope I say that it

      was entirely deserted except for one strange figure at that moment

      crossing the crown of the bridge and approaching. It was the figure

      of a tall and dignified Chinaman, or of one who wore the dress of a

      Chinaman. For the extra-ordinary thing about the stranger's appearance

      was this; he also wore a thick green veil!"

      "Covering his face?"

      "So as to cover his face completely. I was staring at him in wonder,

      when the boy, seeming to divine the other's approach, whispered,

      'Turn your head away! Turn your head away!"

      "He was referring to the man with the veil?"

      "Undoubtedly. Of course I did nothing of the kind, but it was

      impossible to discern the stranger's features through the thick gauze,

      although he passed quite close to me. He had not proceeded another

      three paces, I should think, before my boy had snatched up the 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?"

      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

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