ances of his last meeting
with Mlle. Dorian to the police authorities that this meeting now
constituted a sort of guilty secret, a link binding him to the
beautiful accomplice of "The Scorpion"--to the dark-eyed servant of
the uncanny cowled thing which had sought his life by strange means.
He hugged this secret to his breast, and the pain of it afforded him a
kind of savage joy.

In his study he found a Post Office workman engaged in fitting a new
telephone. As Stuart entered the man turned.

"Good-afternoon, sir," he said, taking up the destroyed instrument
from the litter of flux, pincers and screw drivers lying upon the
table. "If it's not a rude question, how on earth did _this_ happen?"

Stuart laughed uneasily.

"It got mixed up with an experiment which I was conducting," he
replied evasively.

The man inspected the headless trunk of the instrument.

"It seems to be fused, as though the top of it had been in a blast
furnace," he continued. "Experiments of that sort are a bit dangerous
outside a proper laboratory, I should think."

"They are," agreed Stuart. "But I have no facilities here, you see,
and I was--er--compelled to attempt the experiment. I don't intend to
repeat it."

"That's lucky," murmured the man, dropping the instrument into a
carpet-bag. "If you do, it will cost you a tidy penny for telephones!"

Walking out towards the dispensary, Stuart met Mrs. M'Gregor.

"A Post Office messenger brought this letter for you, Mr. Keppel, just
the now," she said, handing Stuart a sealed envelope.

He took the envelope from her hand, and turned quickly away. He felt
that he had changed colour. For it was addressed in the handwriting
of ... Mlle. Dorian!

"Thank you, Mrs. M'Gregor," he said and turned into the dining-room.

Mrs. M'Gregor proceeded about her household duties, and as her
footsteps receded, Stuart feverishly tore open the envelope. That
elusive scent of jasmine crept to his nostrils. In the envelope was a
sheet of thick note-paper (having the top cut off evidently in order
to remove the printed address), upon which the following singular
message was written:

"Before I go away there is something I want to say to you. You do not
trust me. It is not wonderful that you do not. But I swear that I
only want to save you from a _great_ danger. If you will promise not
to tell the police anything of it, I will meet you at six o'clock by
the Book Stall at Victoria Station--on the Brighton sid