The Golden Scorpion

by Golden Scorpion [lit]

  A magazine pistol held in my hand, I crept, step by step, along the wall until I stood just within the opening. There I stopped.

  I could hear a sound of quick breathing! There was someone waiting outside!

  Dropping quietly down upon the pavement, I slowly protruded my head around the angle of the brick wall at a point not four inches above the ground. I knew that whoever waited would have his eyes fixed upon the doorway at the level of a man's head.

  Close to the wall, a pistol held in his left hand and an upraised sand-bag in his right, stood "Le Balafré!" His eyes gleamed savagely in the light of the moon and his teeth were bared in that fearful animal snarl. But he had not seen me.

  Inch by inch I thrust my pistol forward, the barrel raised sharply. I could not be sure of my aim, of course, nor had I time to judge it carefully.

  I fired.

  The bullet was meant for his right wrist, but it struck him in the fleshy part of his arm. Uttering a ferocious cry he leapt back, dropped his pistol--and perceiving me as I sprang to my feet, lashed at my head with the sand-bag. I raised my left arm to guard my skull and sustained the full force of the blow upon it.

  I staggered back against the wall, and my own pistol was knocked from my grasp! My left arm was temporarily useless and the man of the scar was deprived of the use of his right. Pardieu! I had the better chance!

  He hurled himself upon me.

  Instantly he recovered the advantage, for he grasped me by the throat with his left hand--and, nom d'un nom! what a grip he had! Flat against the wall he held me, and began, his teeth bared in that fearful grin, to crush the life out of me.

  To such an attack there was only one counter. I kicked him savagely--and that death-grip relaxed. I writhed, twisted--and was free! As I regained my freedom I struck at him, and by great good fortune caught him upon the point of the jaw. He staggered. I struck him over the heart, and he fell. I pounced upon him, exulting, for he had sought my life and I knew no pity. . . .

  Yet I had not thought so strong a man would choke so easily, and for some moments I stood looking down at him, believing that he sought to trick me. But it was not so. His affair was finished.

  I listened. The situation in which I found myself was full of difficulty. An owl screeched somewhere in the trees, but nothing else stirred. The sound of the shot had not attracted attention, apparently. I stooped and examined the garments of the man who lay at my feet.

  He carried a travel coupon to Paris bearing that day's date, together with some other papers, but, although I searched all his pockets, I could find nothing of real interest, until in an inside pocket of his coat I felt some hard, irregularly shaped object. I withdrew it, and in the moonlight it lay glittering in my palm . . . a golden scorpion!

  It had apparently been broken in the struggle. The tail was missing, nor could I find it; but I must confess that I did not prolong the search.

  Some chance effect produced by the shadow of the moonlight, and the presence of that recently purchased ticket, gave me the idea upon which without delay I proceeded to act. Satisfying myself that there was no mark upon any of his garments by which the man could be identified, I unlocked from my wrist an identification disk which I habitually wore there, and locked it upon the wrist of the man with the scar!

  Clearly, I argued, he had been detailed to dispatch me and then to leave at once for France. I would make it appear that he had succeeded.

  Behold me, ten minutes later, driving slowly along a part of the Thames Embankment which I chanced to remember, a gruesome passenger riding behind me in the cab. I was reflecting as I kept a sharp look-out for a spot which I had noted one day during my travels, how easily one could commit murder in London, when a constable ran out and intercepted me!

  Mon dieu! how my heart leapt!

  "I'll trouble you for your name and number, my lad," he said.

  "What for?" I asked, and remembering a rare fragment of idiom: "What's up with you?" I added.

  "Your lamp's out!" he cried, "that's what's up with me!"

  "Oh," said I, climbing from my seat--"very well. I'm sorry. I didn't know. But here is my license."

  I handed him the little booklet and began to light my lamps, cursing myself for a dreadful artist because I had forgotten to do so.

  "All right," he replied, and handed it back to me. "But how the devil you've managed to get all your lamps out, I can't imagine!"

  "This is my first job since dusk," I explained, hurrying around to the tail-light.

  "And he don't say much!" remarked the constable.

  I replaced my matches in my pocket and returned to the front of the cab, making a gesture as of one raising a glass to his lips and jerking my thumb across my shoulder in the direction of my unseen fare.

  "Oh, that's it!" said the constable, and moved off.

  Never in my whole career have I been so glad to see the back of any man!

  I drove on slowly. The point for which I was making was only some three hundred yards further along, but I had noted that the constable had walked off in the opposite direction. Therefore, arriving at my destination--a vacant wharf open to the road--I pulled up and listened.

  Only the wash of the tide upon the piles of the wharf was audible, for the night was now far advanced.

  I opened the door of the cab and dragged out "Le Balafré." Right and left I peered, truly like a stage villain, and then hauled my unpleasant burden along the irregularly paved path and on to the little wharf. Out in mid-stream a Thames Police patrol was passing, and I stood a moment until the creak of the oars grew dim.

  Then: there was a dull splash far below . . . and silence again.

  Gaston Max had been consigned to a watery grave!

  Returning again to the garage, I wondered very much who he had been, this one, "Le Balafré." Could it be that he was "The Scorpion"? I could not tell, but I had hopes very shortly of finding out.

  I had settled up my affairs with my landlady and had removed from my apartments all papers and other effects. In the garage I had placed a good suit of clothes and other necessities, and by telephone I had secured a room at a West-End hotel.

  The cab returned to the stable, I locked the door, and by the light of one of the lamps, shaved off my beard and moustache. My uniform and cap I hung up on the hook where I usually left them after working hours, and changed into the suit which I had placed there in readiness. I next destroyed all evidences of identity and left the place in a neat condition. I extinguished the lamp, went out and locked the door behind me, and carrying a travelling-grip and a cane I set off for my new hotel.

  Charles Malet had disappeared!

  CHAPTER IV. I MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

  ON THE corner opposite Dr. Stuart's establishment stood a house which was "to be let or sold." From the estate-agent whose name appeared upon the notice-board I obtained the keys--and had a duplicate made of that which opened the front door. It was a simple matter, and the locksmith returned both keys to me within an hour. I informed the agent that the house would not suit me.

  Nevertheless, having bolted the door, in order that prospective purchasers might not surprise me, I "camped out" in an upper room all day, watching from behind the screen of trees all who came to the house of Dr. Stuart. Dusk found me still at my post, armed with a pair of good binoculars. Every patient who presented himself I scrutinized carefully, and finding as the darkness grew that it became increasingly difficult to discern the features of visitors, I descended to the front garden and resumed my watch from the lower branches of a tree which stood some twenty feet from the roadway.

  At selected intervals I crept from my post and surveyed the lane upon which the window of the consulting-room opened and also the path leading to the tradesmen's entrance, from which one might look across the lawn and in at the open study windows. It was during one of these tours of inspection and whilst I was actually peering through a gap in the hedge, that I heard the telephone bell. Dr. Stuart was in the study and I heard him sp
eaking.

  I gathered that his services were required immediately at some institution in the neighbourhood. I saw him take his hat, stick and bag from the sofa and go out of the room. Then I returned to the front garden of my vacant house.

  No one appeared for some time. A policeman walked slowly up the road, and flashed his lantern in at the gate of the house I had commandeered. His footsteps died away. Then, faintly, I heard the hum of a powerful motor. I held my breath. The approaching car turned into the road at a point above me to the right, came nearer . . . and stopped before Dr. Stuart's door.

  I focussed by binoculars upon the chauffeur.

  It was the brown-skinned man! Nom d'un nom! a woman was descending from the car. She was enveloped in furs and I could not see her face. She walked up the steps to the door and was admitted.

  The chauffeur backed the car into the lane beside the house.

  My heart bearing rapidly with excitement, I crept out by the further gate of the drive, crossed the road at a point fifty yards above the house and walking very quietly came back to the tradesmen's entrance. Into its enveloping darkness I glided and on until I could peep across the lawn.

  The elegant visitor, as I had hoped, had been shown, not into the ordinary waiting-room but into the doctor's study. She was seated with her back to the window, talking to a grey-haired old lady--probably the doctor's housekeeper. Impatiently I waited for this old lady to depart, and the moment that she did so, the visitor stood up, turned and . . . it was Zâra el-Khalâ!

  It was only with difficulty that I restrained the cry of triumph which arose to my lips. On the instant that the study door closed, Zâra el-Khalâ began to try a number of keys which she took from her handbag upon the various drawers of the bureau!

  "So!" I said--"they are uncertain of the drawer!"

  Suddenly she desisted, looking nervously at the open windows; then, crossing the room she drew the curtains. I crept out into the road again and by the same roundabout route came back to the empty house. Feeling my way in the darkness of the shrubbery, I found the motor bicycle which I had hidden there and I wheeled it down to the further gate of the drive and waited.

  I could see the doctor's door, and I saw him returning along the road. As he appeared, from somewhere--I could not determine from where--came a strange and uncanny wailing sound, a sound that chilled me like an evil omen.

  Even as it died away, and before Dr. Stuart had reached his door, I knew what it portended--that horrible wail. Some one hidden I knew not where, had warned Zâra el-Khalâ that the doctor returned! But stay! Perhaps that some one was the dark-skinned chauffeur!

  How I congratulated myself upon the precautions which I had taken to escape observation! Evidently the watcher had place himself somewhere where he could command a view of the front door and the road.

  Five minutes later the girl came out, the old housekeeper accompanying her to the door, the car emerged from the land, Zâra el-Khalâ entered it and was driven away. I could see no third person inside the car, and no one was seated beside the chauffeur. I started my "Indian" and leapt in pursuit.

  As I had anticipated, the route was Eastward, and I found myself traversing familiar ground. From the south-west to the east of London whirled the big car of mystery--and I was ever close behind it. Sometimes, in the crowded streets, I lost sight of my quarry for a time, but always I caught up again, and at last I found myself whirling along Commercial Road and not fifty yards behind the car.

  Just by the canal bridge a drunken sailor lurched out in front of my wheel, and only by twisting perilously right into a turning called, I believe, Salmon Lane, did I avoid running him down.

  Sacre nom! how I cursed him! The lane was too narrow for me to turn and I was compelled to dismount and to wheel my "Indian" back to the high-road. The yellow car had vanished, of course, but I took it for granted that it had followed the main road. At a dangerous speed, pursued by execrations from the sailor and all his friends, I set off east once more, turning to the right down West India Dock Road.

  Arriving at the dock, and seeing nothing ahead of me but desolation and ships' masts, I knew that that inebriated pig had spoiled everything! I could have sat down upon the dirty pavement and wept, so mortified was I! For if Zâra el-Khalâ had secured the envelope I had missed my only chance.

  However, pardieu! I have said that despair is not permitted by the Bureau. I rode home to my hotel, deep in reflection. Whether the girl had the envelope or not, at least she had escaped detection by the doctor; therefore if she had failed she would try again. I could sleep in peace until the morrow.

  Of the following day, which I spent as I had spent the preceding one, I have nothing to record. At about the same time in the evening the yellow car again rolled into view, and on this occasion, I devoted all my attention to the dark-skinned chauffeur, upon whom I directed my glasses.

  As the girl alighted and spoke to him for a moment, he raised the goggles which habitually he wore and I saw his face. A theory which I had formed on the previous night proved to be correct. The chauffeur was the Hindu, Chunda Lal! As Zâra el-Khalâ walked up the steps he backed the car into the narrow lane and I watched him constantly. Yet, watch as closely as I might, I could not see where he concealed himself in order to command a view of the road.

  On this occasion, as I know, Dr. Stuart was at home. Nevertheless the girl stayed for close upon half an hour, and I began to wonder if some new move had been planned. Suddenly the door opened and she came out.

  I crept away through the bushes to my bicycle and wheeled in on to the drive. I saw the car start; but Madame Fortune being in playful mood, my own engine refused to start at all, and when ten minutes later I at last aroused a spark of life in the torpid machine I knew that pursuit would be futile.

  Since this record is intended for the guidance of those who may take up the quest of "The Scorpion" either in co-operation with myself or, in the event of my failure, it would be profitless for me to record my disasters. Very well, I had one success. One night I pursued the yellow car from Dr. Stuart's house to the end of Limehouse Causeway without once losing sight of it.

  A string of lorries from the docks, drawn by a traction-engine, checked me a the corner for a time, although the yellow car had passed. But I raced furiously on and by great good luck overtook it near the Dock Station. From thence onward pursuing a strangely tortuous route, I kept it in sight to Canning Town, when it turned into a public garage. I followed--to purchase petrol.

  Chunda Lal was talking to the man in charge; he had not yet left his seat. But the car was empty!

  At first I was stupid with astonishment. Par la barbe du prophète! I was astounded. Then I saw that I had really made a great discovery. The street into which I had injudiciously followed "Le Balafré" lay between Limehouse Causeway and Ropemaker Street, and it was at no great distance from this point that I had lost sight of the yellow car. In that street, which according to my friend the policeman was "nearly all Chinese," Zâra el-Khalâ had descended; in that street was "The Scorpion's" lair!

  CHAPTER V. CONCLUSION OF STATEMENT

  I COME now to the conclusion of this statement and to the strange occurrence which led to my proclaiming myself. The fear of imminent assassination, which first had prompted me to record what I knew of "The Scorpion" had left me since I had ceased to be Charles Malet. And that the disappearance of "Le Balafré" had been accepted by his unknown chief as evidence of his success in removing me, I did not doubt. Therefore I breathed more freely . . . and more freely still when my body was recovered!

  Yes, my body was recovered from Hanover Hole; I read of it--a very short paragraph, but it is the short paragraphs that matter--in my morning paper. I knew then that I should very shortly be dead indeed--officially dead. I had counted on this happening before, you understand, for I more than ever suspected that "The Scorpion" knew me to be in England and I feared that he would "lie low" as the English say. However, since a fortunate thing happens better late than ne
ver, I saw in this paragraph two things: (1) that the enemy would cease to count upon Gaston Max; (2) that the Scotland Yard Commissioner would be authorised to open Part First of this Statement which had been lodged at his office two days after I landed in England--the portion dealing with my inquiries in Paris and with my tracking of "Le Balafré" to Bow Road Station and observing that he showed a golden scorpion to the chauffeur of the yellow car.

  This would happen because Paris would wire that the identification disk found on the dead man was that of Gaston Max. Why would Paris do so? Because my reports had been discontinued since I had ceased to be Charles Malet and Paris would be seeking evidence of my whereabouts. My reports had discontinued because I had learned that I had to do with a criminal organization of whose ramifications I knew nothing. Therefore I took no more chances. I died.

  I return to the night when Inspector Dunbar, the grim Dunbar of Scotland Yard, came to Dr. Stuart's house. His appearance there puzzled me. I could not fail to recognize him, for as dusk had fully come I had descended from my top window and was posted among the bushes of the empty house from whence I commanded a perfect view of the doctor's door. The night was unusually chilly--there had been some rain--and when I crept around to the lane bordering the lawn, hoping to see or hear something of what was taking place in the study, I found that the windows were closed and the blinds drawn.

  Luck seemed to have turned against me; for that night, at dusk, when I had gone to a local garage where I kept my motor bicycle, I had discovered the back tyre to be perfectly flat and had been forced to contain my soul in patience whilst the man repaired a serious puncture. The result was of course that for more than half an hour I had not had Dr. Stuart's house under observation. And a hundred and one things can happen in half an hour.

  Had Dr. Stuart sent for the Inspector? If so, I feared that the envelope was missing, or at any rate that he had detected Zâra el-Khalâ in the act of stealing it and had determined to place the matter in the hands of the police. It was a maddening reflection. Again--I shrewdly suspected that I was not the only watcher of Dr. Stuart's house. The frequency with which the big yellow car drew up at the door a few moments after the doctor had gone out could not be due to accident. Yet I had been unable to detect the presence of this other watcher, nor had I any idea of the spot where the car remained hidden--if my theory was a correct one. Nevertheless I did not expect to see it come along whilst the Inspector remained at the house--always supposing that Zâra el-Khalâ had not yet succeeded. I wheeled out the "Indian" and rode to a certain tobbaconist's shop at which I had sometimes purchased cigarettes.