CHAPTER III

THE SCORPION'S TAIL


Seating himself at the writing-table, Stuart began mechanically to
arrange his papers. Then from the tobacco jar he loaded his pipe,
but his manner remained abstracted. Yet he was not thinking of the
phantom piper but of Mlle. Dorian.

Until he had met this bewilderingly pretty woman he had thought that
his heart was for evermore proof against the glances of bright eyes.
Mademoiselle had disillusioned him. She was the most fragrantly lovely
creature he had ever met, and never for one waking moment since her
first visit, had he succeeded in driving her bewitching image from
his mind. He had tried to laugh at his own folly, then had grown angry
with himself, but finally had settled down to a dismayed acceptance
of a wild infatuation.

He had no idea who Mlle. Dorian was; he did not even know her exact
nationality, but he strongly suspected there was a strain of Eastern
blood in her veins. Although she was quite young, apparently little
more than twenty years of age, she dressed like a woman of unlimited
means, and although all her visits had been at night he had had
glimpses of the big car which had aroused Mrs. M'Gregor's displeasure.

Yes--so ran his musings, as, pipe in mouth, he rested his chin in his