'The Scorpion.'"

The Assistant Commissioner complacently lighted a fresh cigarette.

"Finally," he said, "the mode of death in the case of M. Max may not
have been the same as in the other cases. Therefore, Dr. Stuart"--he
paused impressively--"if you fail to detect anything suspicious at the
post mortem examination I propose to apply to the Home Secretary for
power to exhume the body of the late Sir Frank Narcombe!"

Deep in reflection, Stuart walked alone along the Embankment. The full
facts contained in the report from Paris the Commissioner had not
divulged, but Stuart concluded that this sudden activity was directly
due, not to the death of M. Max, but to the fact that he (Max) had
left behind him some more or less tangible clue. Stuart fully
recognized that the Commissioner had accorded him an opportunity to
establish his reputation--or to wreck it.

Yet, upon closer consideration, it became apparent that it was to
Fate and not to the Commissioner that he was indebted. Strictly
speaking, his association with the matter dated from the night of
his meeting with the mysterious cabman in West India Dock road. Or had
the curtain first been lifted upon this occult drama that evening,
five years ago, as the setting sun reddened the waters of the Imperial
Canal and a veiled figure passed him on the Wu-Men Bridge?

"Shut your eyes tightly, master--the Scorpion is coming!"

He seemed to hear the boy's words now, as he passed along the
Embankment; he seemed to see again the tall figure. And suddenly he