"
"I am honoured," replied Stuart. "But after all, Inspector, I am
merely an ordinary suburban practitioner. My reputation has yet to
be made. What's the matter with Halesowen of Upper Wimpole Street?
He's the big man."
"And if Sir Frank Narcombe was really poisoned--as Paris seems to
think he was--he's also a big fool." retorted Dunbar bluntly. "He
agreed that death was due to heart trouble."
"I know he did; unsuspected ulcerative endocarditis. Perhaps he was
right."
"If he was right," said Dunbar, taking up the piece of gold from the
table, "what was Gaston Max doing with this thing in his possession?"
"There may be no earthly connection between Max's inquiries and the
death of Sir Frank."
"On the other hand--there may! Leaving Dr. Halesowen out of the
question, are you open to act as expert adviser in this case?"
"Certainly; delighted."
"Your fee is your own affair, doctor. I will communicate with you
later, if you wish, or call again in the morning."
Dunbar wrapped up the scorpion's tail in the piece of tissue paper
and was about to replace it in his note-case. Then:
"I'll leave this with you, doctor," he said. "I know it will be safe
enough, and you might like to examine it at greater leisure."
"Very well," replied Stuart. "Some of the engraving is very minute.
I will have a look at it through a glass later."
He took the fragment from Dunbar, who had again unwrapped it, and,
opening a drawer of the writing-table in which he kept his cheque-book
and some few other personal valuables, he placed the curious piece of
gold-work within and relocked the drawer.
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