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Updated: May 8, 2025
"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?"
"He told me," replied Dunbar, in ever-growing amazement, "that the body brought in by the River Police last night had been identified as that of Gaston Max." The Assistant Commissioner handed a pencilled slip to Dunbar. It read as follows: "Gaston Max in London. Scorpion, Narcombe. No report since 30th ult. Fear trouble. Identity-disk G. M. 49685."
But I begin to share your belief that a series of daring and unusual assassinations has been taking place under the eyes of the police authorities of Europe. It can only be poison an unknown poison, perhaps. We shall be empowered to exhume the body of the late Sir Frank Narcombe in a few days' time, I hope. His case puzzles me hopelessly.
The body brought in from Hanover Hole has been identified as his." "What! it is the body of Gaston Max!" "Paris has just wired that Max's reports ceased over a week ago. He was working on the case of Sir Frank Narcombe, it seems, and I never knew! But I predicted a long time ago that Max would play the lone-hand game once too often. They sent particulars. The identification disk is his.
"I understand, Doctor, that you had been treating Lord Southery for angina pectoris?" I said. "Yes," was the reply, "for some months." "You regard the circumstances of his end as entirely consistent with a death from that cause?" "Certainly. Do you observe anything unusual yourself? Sir Frank Narcombe quite agrees with me. There is surely no room for doubt?"
She flinched again as she had done when he had taunted her with being a thief; but he pressed his advantage remorselessly. "So you were concerned in the death of Sir Frank Narcombe!" he said. "I was not!" she cried at him fiercely, and her widely opened eyes were magnificent. "Sir Frank Narcombe is " She faltered and ceased speaking, biting her lip which had become tremulous again.
"The Scorpion!" ... that name haunted me persistently. So much so that at last I determined to find out for myself if Sir Frank Narcombe had ever spoken about a scorpion or if there was any evidence to show that he had been interested in the subject. I could not fail to remember, too, that Zara el-Khala had last been reported as crossing to England.
Then: "The Grand Duke is a tactician who, had he remained in Europe, might well have readjusted the frontiers of his country. Van Rembold, as a mining engineer, stands alone, as does Henrik Ericksen in the electrical world. As for Sir Frank Narcombe, he is beyond doubt the most brilliant surgeon of today, and I, a judge of men, count you his peer in the realm of pure therapeutics.
"Does your memory retain the name of Van Rembold and has your Scotland Yard yet satisfied itself that Sir Frank Narcombe died from 'natural causes'? Then, there was Ericksen, the most brilliant European electrical expert of the century, who died quite suddenly last year. I honor you, Dr. Stuart, by inviting you to join a company so distinguished." "You are raving!
And now, permit me to ask you a question: are you acquainted with any poison which would produce the symptoms noted in the case of Sir Frank Narcombe, for instance?" Stuart shook his head slowly. "All that I know of the case," he said, "is that he was taken suddenly ill in the foyer of a West-End theatre, immediately removed to his house in Half Moon Street, and died shortly afterward.
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