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 of early Victorian fashion and massive folding shutters
were provided to close the French windows. He never used them, as a
matter of fact, but now he tested the fastenings which kept them in
place against the inner wall and even moved them in order to learn if
they were still serviceable.
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