The Yellow Claw

by Sax Rohmer

  XI

  PRESENTING M. GASTON MAX

  Not venturing to turn on the light, not daring to look upon her own facein the mirror, Helen Cumberly sat before her dressing-table, tremblingwildly. She wanted to laugh, and wanted to cry; but the daughter ofSeton Cumberly knew what those symptoms meant and knew how to deal withthem. At the end of an interval of some four or five minutes, she rang.

  The maid opened the door.

  "Don't light up, Merton," she said, composedly. "I want you to tellGarnham to go down to Mr. Leroux's and put the place in order. Mr.Leroux is dining with us."

  The girl withdrew; and Helen, as the door closed, pressed the electricswitch. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as if it were theface of an enemy, then, turning her head aside, sat deep in reflection,biting her lip and toying with the edge of the white doily.

  "You little traitor!" she whispered, through clenched teeth. "You littletraitor--and hypocrite"--sobs began to rise in her throat--"and fool!"

  Five more minutes passed in a silent conflict. A knock announced thereturn of the maid; and the girl reentered, placing upon the table avisiting-card:--

  DENISE RYLAND

  ATELIER 4, RUE DU COQ D'OR,

  MONTMARTRE,

  PARIS.

  Helen Cumberly started to her feet with a stifled exclamation and turnedto the maid; her face, to which the color slowly had been returning,suddenly blanched anew.

  "Denise Ryland!" she muttered, still holding the card in her hand,"why--that's Mrs. Leroux's friend, with whom she had been staying inParis! Whatever can it mean?"

  "Shall I show her in here, please?" asked the maid.

  "Yes, in here," replied Helen, absently; and, scarcely aware that shehad given instructions to that effect, she presently found herselfconfronted by the lady of the boat-train!

  "Miss Cumberly?" said the new arrival in a pleasant American voice.

  "Yes--I am Helen Cumberly. Oh! I am so glad to know you at last! I haveoften pictured you; for Mira--Mrs. Leroux--is always talking about you,and about the glorious times you have together! I have sometimes longedto join you in beautiful Paris. How good of you to come back with her!"

  Miss Ryland unrolled the Scotch muffler from her throat, swinging herhead from side to side in a sort of spuriously truculent manner, quitepeculiarly her own. Her keen hazel eyes were fixed upon the face of thegirl before her. Instinctively and immediately she liked Helen Cumberly;and Helen felt that this strong-looking, vaguely masculine woman, was anold, intimate friend, although she had never before set eyes upon her.

  "H'm!" said Miss Ryland. "I have come from Paris"--she punctuated manyof her sentences with wags of the head as if carefully weighing herwords--"especially" (pause) "to see you" (pause and wag of head) "I amglad... to find that... you are the thoroughly sensible... kind ofgirl that I... had imagined, from the accounts which... I have had ofyou."...

  She seated herself in an armchair.

  "Had of me from Mira?" asked Helen.

  "Yes... from Mrs. Leroux."

  "How delightful it must be for you to have her with you so often!Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to that particular sort of good-time,doesn't it?"

  "It does... very properly... too. No MAN... no MAN in his ... rightsenses... would permit... his wife... to gad about in Paris withanother... girl" (she presumably referred to herself) "whom HE had onlymet... casually... and did not like"...

  "What! do you mean that Mr. Leroux doesn't like you? I can't believethat!"

  "Then the sooner... you believe it... the better."

  "It can only be that he does not know you, properly?"

  "He has no wish... to know me... properly; and I have no desire... tocultivate... the... friendship of such... a silly being."

  Helen Cumberly was conscious that a flush was rising from her face toher brow, and tingling in the very roots of her hair. She was indignantwith herself and turned, aside, bending over her table in order toconceal this ill-timed embarrassment from her visitor.

  "Poor Mr. Leroux!" she said, speaking very rapidly; "I think it awfullygood of him, and sporty, to allow his wife so much liberty."

  "Sporty!" said Miss Ryland, head wagging and nostrils distended inscorn. "Idi-otic... I should call it."

  "Why?"

  Helen Cumberly, perfectly composed again, raised her clear eyes to hervisitor.

  "You seem so... thoroughly sensible, except in regard to... HarryLeroux;--and ALL women, with a few... exceptions, are FOOLS where thetrue... character of a MAN is concerned--that I will take you right intomy confidence."

  Her speech lost its quality of syncopation; the whole expression of herface changed; and in the hazel eyes a deep concern might be read.

  "My dear," she stood up, crossed to Helen's side, and rested herartistic looking hands upon the girl's shoulder. "Harry Leroux standsupon the brink of a great tragedy--a life's tragedy!"

  Helen was trembling slightly again.

  "Oh, I know!" she whispered--"I know--"

  "You know?"

  There was surprise in Miss Ryland's voice.

  "Yes, I have seen them--watched them--and I know that the policethink"...

  "Police! What are you talking about--the police?"

  Helen looked up with a troubled face.

  "The murder!" she began...

  Miss Ryland dropped into a chair which, fortunately, stood close behindher, with a face suddenly set in an expression of horror. She began tounderstand, now, a certain restraint, a certain ominous shadow, whichshe had perceived, or thought she had perceived, in the atmosphere ofthis home, and in the manner of its occupants.

  "My dear girl," she began, and the old nervous, jerky manner showeditself again, momentarily,--"remember that... I left Paris by ... thefirst train, this morning, and have simply been... traveling right up tothe present moment."...

  "Then you have not heard? You don't know that a--murder--has beencommitted?"

  "MURDER! Not--not"...

  "Not any one connected with Mr. Leroux; no, thank God! but it was donein his flat."...

  Miss Ryland brushed a whisk of straight hair back from her brow with arough and ungraceful movement.

  "My dear," she began, taking a French telegraphic form from her pocket,"you see this message? It's one which reached me at an unearthly hourthis morning from Harry Leroux. It was addressed to his wife at mystudio; therefore, as her friend, I opened it. Mira Leroux has actuallyvisited me there twice since her marriage--"

  "Twice!" Helen rose slowly to her feet, with horrified eyes fixed uponthe speaker.

  "Twice I said! I have not seen her, and have rarely heard from her, fornearly twelve months, now! Therefore I packed up post-haste and here Iam! I came to you, because, from what little I have heard of you, andof your father, I judged you to be the right kind of friends toconsult."...

  "You have not seen her for twelve months?"

  Helen's voice was almost inaudible, and she was trembling dreadfully.

  "That's a fact, my dear. And now, what are we going to tell HarryLeroux?"

  It was a question, the answer to which was by no means evident ata glance; and leaving Helen Cumberly face to face with this new andhorrible truth which had brought Denise Ryland hotfoot from Paris toLondon, let us glance, for a moment, into the now familiar room ofDetective-Inspector Dunbar at Scotland Yard.

  He had returned from his interrogation of Brian; and he received thereport of Sowerby, respecting the late Mrs. Vernon's maid. The girl,Sergeant Sowerby declared, was innocent of complicity, and could onlydepose to the fact that her late mistress took very little luggage withher on the occasions of her trips to Scotland. With his notebook openbefore him upon the table, Dunbar was adding this slight item to hisnotes upon the case, when the door opened, and the uniformed constableentered, saluted, and placed an envelope in the Inspector's hand.

  "From the commissioner!" said Sowerby, significantly.

  With puzzled face, Dunbar opened the envelope and withdrew thecommissioner's not
e. It was very brief:--

  "M. Gaston Max, of the Paris Police, is joining you in the PalaceMansions murder case. You will cooperate with him from date above."

  "MAX!" said Dunbar, gazing astoundedly at his subordinate.

  Certainly it was a name which might well account for the amazementwritten upon the inspector's face; for it was the name of admittedly thegreatest criminal investigator in Europe!

  "What the devil has the case to do with the French police?" mutteredSowerby, his ruddy countenance exhibiting a whole history of wonderment.

  The constable, who had withdrawn, now reappeared, knocking deferentiallyupon the door, throwing it open, and announcing:

  "Mr. Gaston Max, to see Detective-Inspector Dunbar."

  Bowing courteously upon the threshold, appeared a figure in a dazzlingcheck traveling-coat--a figure very novel, and wholly unforgettable.

  "I am honored to meet a distinguished London colleague," he said inperfect English, with a faint American accent.

  Dunbar stepped across the room with outstretched hand, and cordiallyshook that of the famous Frenchman.

  "I am the more honored," he declared, gallantly playing up to theother's courtesy. "This is Detective-Sergeant Sowerby, who is actingwith me in the case."

  M. Gaston Max bowed low in acknowledgment of the introduction.

  "It is a pleasure to meet Detective-Sergeant Sowerby," he declared.

  These polite overtures being concluded then, and the door being closed,the three detectives stood looking at one another in momentary silence.Then Dunbar spoke with blunt directness:

  "I am very pleased to have you with us, Mr. Max," he said; "but might Iask what your presence in London means?"

  M. Gaston Max shrugged in true Gallic fashion.

  "It means, monsieur," he said, "--murder--and MR. KING!"