shape had emerged into the moonlight--and
had proclaimed itself to be that of a black cat!

Yet he had been sorely tempted to act upon the advice so strangely
offered. He refrained from doing so, however, reflecting that to spend
his evenings with closed and barred shutters now that a spell of hot
weather seemed to be imminent would be insufferable. Up and down the
room he paced tirelessly, always confronted by the eternal problem.

Forcing himself at last to begin work if only as a sedative, he filled
and lighted his pipe, turned off the centre lamp and lighted the
reading lamp upon his table. He sat down to consider the papers
bearing upon the death of Eriksen. For half an hour he read on
steadily and made a number of pencil notes. Then he desisted and sat
staring straight before him.

What possible motive could there be in assassinating these people? The
case of the Grand Duke might be susceptible of explanation, but those
of Henrik Ericksen and Sir Frank Narcombe were not. Furthermore he
could perceive no links connecting the three, and no reason why they
should have engaged the attention of a common enemy. Such crimes would
seem to be purposeless. Assuming that "The Scorpion" was an individual,
that individual apparently was a dangerous homicidal maniac.

But, throughout the documents, he could discover no clue pointing to
the existence of such an entity. "The Scorpion" might be an invention
of the fertile brain of M. Gaston Max; for it had become more and more
evident, as he had read, that the attempt to trace these deaths to an
identical source had originated at the Service de Surete, and it was
from Paris that the name "The Scorpion" had come. The fate of Max was
significant, of course. The chances of his death proving to have been
due to accident were almost negligible and the fact that a fragment of
a golden scorpion had actually been found upon his body was certainly
curious.

"Close your shutters at night...."

How the words haunted him and how hotly he despised himself for a
growing apprehension which refused to be ignored. It was more mental
than physical, this dread which grew with the approach of midnight,
and it resembled that which had robbed him of individuality and all
but stricken him inert when he had seen upon the moon-bright screen of
the curtains the shadow of a cowled man.

Dark forces seemed to be stirring, and some unseen menace crept near
to him out of the darkness.

The house was