THE YELLOW CLAW. Sax Rohmer

down!” snapped Dr. Cumberly, turning to him; “damn it, Leroux, you

      are worse than a woman!”

      In a manner almost childlike, the novelist obeyed the will of the

      stronger man, throwing himself into an armchair, and burying his face in

      his hands.

      “My wife!” he kept muttering--“my wife!”...

      Exel and the doctor stood staring at one another; when suddenly, from

      outside the flat, came a metallic clattering, followed by a little

      suppressed cry. Helen Cumberly, in daintiest deshabille, appeared in

      the lobby, carrying, in one hand, a chafing-dish, and, in the other,

      the lid. As she advanced toward the study, from whence she had heard her

      father's voice:--

      “Why, Mr. Leroux!” she cried, “I shall CERTAINLY report you to Mira,

      now! You have not even touched the omelette!”

      “Good God! Cumberly! stop her!” muttered Exel, uneasily. “The door was

      not latched!”...

      But it was too late. Even as the physician turned to intercept his

      daughter, she crossed the threshold of the study. She stopped short

      at perceiving Exel; then, with a woman's unerring intuition, divined a

      tragedy, and, in the instant of divination, sought for, and found, the

      hub of the tragic wheel.

      One swift glance she cast at the fur-clad form, prostrate.

      The chafing-dish fell from her hand, and the omelette rolled, a

      grotesque mass, upon the carpet. She swayed, dizzily, raising one hand

      to her brow, but had recovered herself even as Leroux sprang forward to

      support her.

      “All right, Leroux!” cried Cumberly; “I will take her upstairs again.

      Wait for me, Exel.”

      Exel nodded, lighted his cigar, and sat down in a chair, remote from the

      writing-table.

      “Mira--my wife!” muttered Leroux, standing, looking after Dr. Cumberly

      and his daughter as they crossed the lobby. “She will report to--my

      wife.”...

      In the outer doorway, Helen Cumberly looked back over her shoulder,

      and her glance met that of Leroux. Hers was a healing glance and a

      strengthening glance; it braced him up as nothing else could have done.

      He turned to Exel.

      “For Heaven's sake, Exel!” he said, evenly, “give me your advice--give

      me your help; I am going to 'phone for the police.”

      Exel looked up with an odd expression.

      “I am entirely at your service, Leroux,” he said. “I can quite

      understand how this ghastly affair has shaken you up.”

      “It was so sudden,” said the other, plaintively. “It is incredible

      that so much emotion can be crowded into so short a period of a man's

      life.”...

      Big Ben chimed the quarter after midnight. Leroux, eyes averted, walked

      to the writing-table, and took up the telephone.

      INSPECTOR DUNBAR TAKES CHARGE

      Detective-Inspector Dunbar was admitted by Dr. Cumberly. He was a man of

      notable height, large-boned, and built gauntly and squarely. His clothes

      fitted him ill, and through them one seemed to perceive the massive

      scaffolding of his frame. He had gray hair retiring above a high

      brow, but worn long and untidily at the back; a wire-like straight-cut

      mustache, also streaked with gray, which served to accentuate the

      grimness of his mouth and slightly undershot jaw. A massive head, with

      tawny, leonine eyes; indeed, altogether a leonine face, and a frame

      indicative of tremendous nervous energy.

      In the entrance lobby he stood for a moment.

      “My name is Cumberly,” said the doctor, glancing at the card which the

      Scotland Yard man had proffered. “I occupy the flat above.”

      “Glad to know you, Dr. Cumberly,” replied the detective in a light and

      not unpleasant voice--and the fierce eyes momentarily grew kindly.

      “This--” continued Cumberly, drawing Dunbar forward into the study, “is

      my friend, Leroux--Henry Leroux, whose name you will know?”

      “I have not that pleasure,” replied Dunbar.

      “Well,” added Cumberly, “he is a famous novelist, and his flat,

      unfortunately, has been made the scene of a crime. This is

      Detective-Inspector Dunbar, who has come to solve our difficulties,

      Leroux.” He turned to where Exel stood upon the hearth-rug--toying with

      his monocle. “Mr. John Exel, M. P.”

      “Glad to know you, gentlemen,” said Dunbar.

      Leroux rose from the armchair in which he had been sitting and stared,

      drearily, at the newcomer. Exel screwed the monocle into his right eye,

      and likewise surveyed the detective. Cumberly, taking a tumbler from the

      bureau, said:--

      “A scotch-and-soda, Inspector?”

      “It is a suggestion,” said Dunbar, “that, coming from a medical man,

      appeals.”

      Whilst the doctor poured out the whisky and squirted the soda into the

      glass, Inspector Dunbar, standing squarely in the middle of the

      room, fixed his eyes upon the still form lying in the shadow of the

      writing-table.

      “You will have been called in, doctor,” he said, taking the proffered

      tumbler, “at the time of the crime?”

      “Exactly!” replied Cumberly. “Mr. Leroux ran up to my flat and summoned

      me to see the woman.”

      “What time would that be?”

      “Big Ben had just struck the final stroke of twelve when I came out on

      to the landing.”

      “Mr. Leroux would be waiting there for you?”

      “He stood in my entrance-lobby whilst I slipped on my dressing-gown, and

      we came down together.”

      “I was entering from the