Sax Rohmer - THE YELLOW CLAW

“But were you facing your door?”

“No,” averred Exel, perceiving the drift of the inspector's inquiries;

“I was facing the stairway the whole time, and although it was in

darkness, there is a street lamp immediately outside on the pavement,

and I can swear, positively, that no one descended; that there was no

one in the hall nor on the stair, except Mr. Leroux and Dr. Cumberly.”

“Ah!” said Dunbar again, and made further entries in his book. “I need

not trouble you further, sir. Good night!”

Exel, despite his earlier attitude of boredom, now ignored this official

dismissal, and, tossing the stump of his cigar into the grate, lighted a

cigarette, and with both hands thrust deep in his pockets, stood leaning

back against the mantelpiece. The detective turned to Leroux.

“Have a brandy-and-soda?” suggested Dr. Cumberly, his eyes turned upon

the pathetic face of the novelist.

But Leroux shook his head, wearily.

“Go ahead, Inspector!” he said. “I am anxious to tell you all I know.

God knows I am anxious to tell you.”

A sound was heard of a key being inserted in the lock of a door.

Four pairs of curious eyes were turned toward the entrance lobby, when

the door opened, and a sleek man of medium height, clean shaven, but

with his hair cut low upon the cheek bones, so as to give the impression

of short side-whiskers, entered in a manner at once furtive and servile.

He wore a black overcoat and a bowler hat. Reclosing the door, he

turned, perceived the group in the study, and fell back as though

someone had struck him a fierce blow.

Abject terror was written upon his features, and, for a moment, the idea

of flight appeared to suggest itself urgently to him; but finally, he

took a step forward toward the study.

“Who's this?” snapped Dunbar, without removing his leonine eyes from the

newcomer.

“It is Soames,” came the weary voice of Leroux.

“Butler?”

“Yes.”

“Where's he been?”

“I don't know. He remained out without my permission.”

“He did, eh?”

Inspector Dunbar thrust forth a long finger at the shrinking form in the

doorway.

“Mr. Soames,” he said, “you will be going to your own room and waiting

there until I ring for you.”

“Yes, sir,” said Soames, holding his hat in both bands, and speaking

huskily. “Yes, sir: certainly, sir.”

He crossed the lobby and disappeared.

“There is no other way out, is there?” inquired the detective, glancing

at Dr. Cumberly.

“There is no other way,” was the reply; “but surely you don't

suspect”...

“I would suspect the Archbishop of Westminster,” snapped Dunbar, “if

he came in like that! Now, sir,”--he turned to Leroux--“you were alone,

here, to-night?”

“Quite alone, Inspector. The truth is, I fear, that my servants take

liberties in the absence of my wife.”

“In the absence of your wife? Where is your wife?”

“She is in Paris.”

“Is she a Frenchwoman?”

“No! oh, no! But my wife is a painter, you understand, and--er--I met

her in Paris--er--... Must you insist upon these--domestic particulars,

Inspector?”

“If Mr. Exel is anxious to turn in,” replied the inspector, “after his

no doubt exhausting duties at the House, and if Dr. Cumberly--”

“I have no secrets from Cumberly!” interjected Leroux. “The doctor

has known me almost from boyhood, but--er--” turning to the

politician--“don't you know, Exel--no offense, no offense”...

“My dear Leroux,” responded Exel hastily, “I am the offender! Permit me

to wish you all good night.”

He crossed the study, and, at the door, paused and turned.

“Rely upon me, Leroux,” he said, “to help in any way within my power.”

He crossed the lobby, opened the outer door, and departed.

“Now, Mr. Leroux,” resumed Dunbar, “about this matter of your wife's

absence.”

Whilst Henry Leroux collected his thoughts, Dr. Cumberly glanced across

at the writing-table where lay the fragment of paper which had been

clutched in the dead woman's hand, then turned his head again toward the

inspector, staring at him curiously. Since Dunbar had not yet attempted

even to glance at the strange message, he wondered what had prompted the

present line of inquiry.

“My wife,” began Leroux, “shared a studio in Paris, at the time that I

met her, with an American lady a very talented portrait painter--er--a

Miss Denise Ryland. You may know her name?--but of course, you don't,

no! Well, my wife is, herself, quite clever with her brush; in fact she

has exhibited more than once at the Paris Salon. We agreed at--er--the

time of our--of our--engagement, that she should be free to visit her

old artistic friends in Paris at any time. You understand? There was to

be no let or hindrance.... Is this really necessary, Inspector?”

“Pray go on, Mr. Leroux.”

“Well, you understand, it was a give-and-take arrangement; because I

am afraid that I, myself, demand certain--sacrifices from my

wife--and--er--I did not feel entitled to--interfere”...

“You see, Inspector,” interrupted Dr. Cumberly, “they are a Bohemian

pair, and Bohemians, inevitably, bore one another at times! This little

arrangement was intended as a safety-valve. Whenever ennui attacked Mrs.

Leroux, she was at liberty to depart for a week to her own friends in

Paris, leaving Leroux to the bachelor's existence which is really his

proper state; to go unshaven and unshorn, to dine upon bread and cheese

and onions, to work until all hours of the morning, and generally to

enjoy himself!”

“Does she usually stay long?” inquired Dunbar.

“Not more than a week, as a rule,” answered Leroux.

“You must excuse me,” continued the detective, “if I seem to pry into

intimate matters; but on these occasions, how does Mrs. Leroux get on

for money?”

“I have opened a credit for her,” explained the novelist, wearily, “at

the Credit Lyonnais, in Paris.”

Dunbar scribbled busily in his notebook.

“Does she take her maid with her?” he jerked, suddenly.

“She has no maid at the moment,” replied Leroux; “she has been without

one for twelve months or more, now.”

“When did you last hear from her?”

“Three days ago.”

“Did you answer the letter?”

“Yes; my answer was amongst the mail which Soames took to the post,

to-night.”

“You said, though, if I remember rightly, that he was out without

permission?”

Leroux ran his fingers through his hair.

“I meant that he should only have been absent five minutes or so; whilst

he remained out for more than an hour.”

Inspector Dunbar nodded, comprehendingly, tapping his teeth with the

head of the fountain-pen.

“And the other servants?”

“There are only two: a cook and a maid. I released them for the

evening--glad to get rid of them--wanted to work.”

“They are late?”

“They take liberties, damnable liberties, because I am easy-going.”

“I see,” said Dunbar. “So that you were quite alone this evening,

when”--he nodded in the direction of the writing-table--“your visitor

came?”

“Quite alone.”

“Was her arrival the first interruption?”

“No--er--not exactly. Miss Cumberly...”

“My daughter,” explained Dr. Cumberly, “knowing that Mr. Leroux, at