THE YELLOW CLAW

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 street,” interrupted Exel, “as they were

descending from above”...

“You can enter from the street, sir, in a moment,” said Dunbar, holding

up his hand. “One witness at a time, if you please.”

Exel shrugged his shoulders and turned slightly, leaning his elbow upon

the mantelpiece and flicking off the ash from his cigar.

“I take it you were in bed?” questioned Dunbar, turning again to the

doctor.

“I had been in bed about a quarter of an hour when I was aroused by the

ringing of the door-bell. This ringing struck me as so urgent that I

ran out in my pajamas, and found there Mr. Leroux, in a very disturbed

state--”

“What did he say? Give his own words as nearly as you remember them.”

Leroux, who had been standing, sank slowly back into the armchair, with

his eyes upon Dr. Cumberly as the latter replied:--

“He said 'Cumberly! Cumberly! For God's sake, come down at once; there

is a strange woman in my flat, apparently in a dying condition!'”

“What did you do?”

“I ran into my bedroom and slipped on my dressing-gown, leaving Mr.

Leroux in the entrance-hall. Then, with the clock chiming the last

stroke of midnight, we came out together and I closed my door behind me.

There was no light on the stair; but our conversation--Mr. Leroux was

speaking in a very high-pitched voice”...

“What was he saying?”

“He was explaining to me how some woman, unknown to him, had interrupted

his work a few minutes before by ringing his door-bell.”...

Inspector Dunbar held up his hand.

“I won't ask you to repeat what he said, doctor; Mr. Leroux, presently,

can give me his own words.”

“We had descended to this floor, then,” resumed Cumberly, “when Mr.

Exel, entering below, called up to us, asking if anything was the

matter. Leroux replied, 'Matter, Exel! There's a devil of a business!

For mercy's sake, come up!'”

“Well?”

“Mr. Exel thereupon joined us at the door of this flat.”

“Was it open?”

“Yes. Mr. Leroux had rushed up to me, leaving the door open behind him.

The light was out, both in the lobby and in the study, a fact upon which

I commented at the time. It was all the more curious as Mr. Leroux had

left both lights on!”...

“Did he say so?”

“He did. The circumstances surprised him to a marked degree. We came in

and I turned up the light in the lobby. Then Leroux, entering the

study, turned up the light there, too. I entered next, followed by Mr.

Exel--and we saw the body lying where you see it now.”

“Who saw it first?”

“Mr. Leroux; he drew my attention to it, saying that he had left her

lying on the chesterfield and NOT upon the floor.”

“You examined her?”

“I did. She was dead, but still warm. She exhibited signs of recent

illness, and of being addicted to some drug habit; probably morphine.

This, beyond doubt, contributed to her death, but the direct cause was

asphyxiation. She had been strangled!”

“My God!” groaned Leroux, dropping his face into his hands.

“You found marks on her throat?”

“The marks were very slight. No great pressure was required in her weak

condition.”

“You did not move the body?”

“Certainly not; a more complete examination must be made, of course. But

I extracted a piece of torn paper from her clenched right hand.”

Inspector Dunbar lowered his tufted brows.

“I'm not glad to know you did that,” he said. “It should have been

left.”

“It was done on the spur of the moment, but without altering the

position of the hand or arm. The paper lies upon the table, yonder.”

Inspector Dunbar took a long drink. Thus far he had made no attempt

to examine the victim. Pulling out a bulging note-case from the inside

pocket of his blue serge coat, he unscrewed a fountain-pen, carefully

tested the nib upon his thumb nail, and made three or four brief

entries. Then, stretching out one long arm, he laid the wallet and

the pen beside his glass upon the top of a bookcase, without otherwise

changing his position, and glancing aside at Exel, said:--

“Now, Mr. Exel, what help can you give us?”

“I have little to add to Dr. Cumberly's account,” answered Exel,

offhandedly. “The whole thing seemed to me”...

“What it seemed,” interrupted Dunbar, “does not interest Scotland Yard,

Mr. Exel, and won't interest the jury.”

Leroux glanced up for a moment, then set his teeth hard, so that his jaw

muscles stood out prominently under the pallid skin.

“What do you want to know, then?” asked Exel.

“I will be wanting to know,” said Dunbar, “where you were coming from,

to-night?”

“From the House of Commons.”

“You came direct?”

“I left Sir Brian Malpas at the corner of Victoria Street at four

minutes to twelve by Big Ben, and walked straight home, actually

entering here, from the street, as the clock was chiming the last stroke

of midnight.”

“Then you would have walked up the street from an easterly direction?”

“Certainly.”

“Did you meet any one or anything?”

“A taxi-cab, empty--for the hood was lowered--passed me as I turned the

corner. There was no other vehicle in the street, and no person.”

“You don't know from which door the cab came?”

“As I turned the corner,” replied Exel, “I heard the man starting his

engine, although when I actually saw the cab, it was in motion; but

judging by the sound to which I refer, the cab had been stationary,

if not at the door of Palace Mansions, certainly at that of the next

block--St. Andrew's Mansions.”

“Did you hear, or see anything else?”

“I saw nothing whatever. But just as I approached the street door, I

heard a peculiar whistle, apparently proceeding from the gardens in the

center of the square. I attached no importance to it at the time.”

“What kind of whistle?”

“I have forgotten the actual notes, but the effect was very odd in some

way.”

“In what way?”

“An impression of this sort is not entirely reliable, Inspector; but it

struck me as Oriental.”

“Ah!” said Dunbar, and reached out the long arm for his notebook.

“Can I be of any further assistance?” said Exel, glancing at his watch.

“You had entered the hall-way and were about to enter your own flat when

the voices of Dr. Cumberly and Mr. Leroux attracted your attention?”

“I actually had the key in my hand,” replied Exel.

“Did you actually have the key in the lock?”

“Let me think,” mused Exel, and he took out a bunch of keys and dangled

them, reflectively, before his eyes. “No! I was fumbling for the right

key when I heard the voices above me.”

“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.”

A WINDOW IS OPENED

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

these times, was very neglectful in regard to meals, prepared him an

omelette, and brought it down in a chafing-dish.”

“How long did she remain?” asked the inspector of Leroux.

“I--er--did not exactly open the door. We chatted, through--er--through

the letter-box, and she left the omelette outside on the landing.”

“What time would that be?”

“It was a quarter to twelve,” declared Cumberly. “I had been supping

with some friends, and returned to find Helen, my daughter, engaged

in preparing the omelette. I congratulated her upon the happy thought,

knowing that Leroux was probably starving himself.”

“I see. The omelette, though, seems to be upset here on the floor?” said

the inspector.

Cumberly briefly explained how it came to be there, Leroux punctuating

his friend's story with affirmative nods.

“Then the door of the flat was open all the time?” cried Dunbar.

“Yes,” replied Cumberly; “but whilst Exel and I searched the other

rooms--and our search was exhaustive--Mr. Leroux remained here in the

study, and in full view of the lobby--as you see for yourself.”

“No living thing,” said Leroux, monotonously, “left this flat from the

time that the three of us, Exel, Cumberly, and I, entered, up to the

time that Miss Cumberly came, and, with the doctor, went out again.”

“H'm!” said the inspector, making notes; “it appears so, certainly. I

will ask you then, for your own account, Mr. Leroux, of the arrival of

the woman in the civet furs. Pay special attention”--he pointed with his

fountain-pen--“to the TIME at which the various incidents occurred.”

Leroux, growing calmer as he proceeded with the strange story, complied

with the inspector's request. He had practically completed his account

when the door-bell rang.

“It's the servants,” said Dr. Cumberly. “Soames will open the door.”

But Soames did not appear.

The ringing being repeated:--

“I told him to remain in his room,” said Dunbar, “until I rang for him,

I remember--”

“I will open the door,” said Cumberly.

“And tell the servants to stay in the kitchen,” snapped Dunbar.

Dr. Cumberly opened the door, admitting the cook and housemaid.

“There has been an unfortunate accident,” he said--“but not to your

master; you need not be afraid. But be good enough to remain in the

kitchen for the present.”

Peeping in furtively as they passed, the two women crossed the lobby and

went to their own quarters.

“Mr. Soames next,” muttered Dunbar, and, glancing at Cumberly as he

returned from the lobby:--“Will you ring for him?” he requested.

Dr. Cumberly nodded, and pressed a bell beside the mantelpiece. An

interval followed, in which the inspector made notes and Cumberly stood

looking at Leroux, who was beating his palms upon his knees, and staring

unseeingly before him.

Cumberly rang again; and in response to the second ring, the housemaid

appeared at the door.

“I rang for Soames,” said Dr. Cumberly.

“He is not in, sir,” answered the girl.

Inspector Dunbar started as though he had been bitten.

“What!” he cried; “not in?”

“No, sir,” said the girl, with wide-open, frightened eyes.

Dunbar turned to Cumberly.

“You said there was no other way out!”

“There IS no other way, to my knowledge.”

“Where's his room?”

Cumberly led the way to a room at the end of a short corridor, and

Inspector Dunbar, entering, and turning up the light, glanced about

the little apartment. It was a very neat servants' bedroom; with

comfortable, quite simple, furniture; but the chest-of-drawers had

been hastily ransacked, and the contents of a trunk--or some of its

contents--lay strewn about the floor.

“He has packed his grip!” came Leroux's voice from the doorway. “It's

gone!”

The window was wide open. Dunbar sprang forward and leaned out over the

ledge, looking to right and left, above and below.

A sort of square courtyard was beneath, and for the convenience of

tradesmen, a hand-lift was constructed outside the kitchens of the three

flats comprising the house; i. e.:--Mr. Exel's, ground floor, Henry

Leroux's second floor, and Dr. Cumberly's, top. It worked in a skeleton

shaft which passed close to the left of Soames' window.

For an active man, this was a good enough ladder, and the inspector

withdrew his head shrugging his square shoulders, irritably.

“My fault entirely!” he muttered, biting his wiry mustache. “I should

have come and seen for myself if there was another way out.”

Leroux, in a new flutter of excitement, now craned from the window.

“It might be possible to climb down the shaft,” he cried, after a brief

survey, “but not if one were carrying a heavy grip, such as that which

he has taken!”

“H'm!” said Dunbar. “You are a writing gentleman, I understand, and yet

it does not occur to you that he could have lowered the bag on a cord,

if he wanted to avoid the noise of dropping it!”

“Yes--er--of course!” muttered Leroux. “But really--but really--oh, good

God! I am bewildered! What in Heaven's name does it all mean!”

“It means trouble,” replied Dunbar, grimly; “bad trouble.”

They returned to the study, and Inspector Dunbar, for the first time

since his arrival, walked across and examined the fragmentary message,

raising his eyebrows when he discovered that it was written upon the

same paper as Leroux's MSS. He glanced, too, at the pen lying on a page

of “Martin Zeda” near the lamp and at the inky splash which told how

hastily the pen had been dropped.

Then--his brows drawn together--he stooped to the body of the murdered

woman. Partially raising the fur cloak, he suppressed a gasp of

astonishment.

“Why! she only wears a silk night-dress, and a pair of suede slippers!”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“I had noted that,” said Cumberly. “The whole business is utterly

extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary is no word for it!” growled the inspector, pursuing his

examination.... “Marks of pressure at the throat--yes; and generally

unhealthy appearance.”

“Due to the drug habit,” interjected Dr. Cumberly.

“What drug?”

“I should not like to say out of hand; possibly morphine.”

“No jewelry,” continued the detective, musingly; “wedding ring--not a

new one. Finger nails well cared for, but recently neglected. Hair dyed

to hide gray patches; dye wanted renewing. Shoes, French. Night-robe,

silk; good lace; probably French, also. Faint perfume--don't know what

it is--apparently proceeding from civet fur. Furs, magnificent; very

costly.”...

He slightly moved the table-lamp in order to direct its light upon

the white face. The bloodless lips were parted and the detective bent,

closely peering at the teeth thus revealed.

“Her teeth were oddly discolored, doctor,” he said, taking out a

magnifying glass and examining them closely. “They had been recently

scaled, too; so that she was not in the habit of neglecting them.”

Dr. Cumberly nodded.

“The drug habit, again,” he said guardedly; “a proper examination will

establish the full facts.”

The inspector added brief notes to those already made, ere he rose from

beside the body. Then:--

“You are absolutely certain,” he said, deliberately, facing Leroux,

“that you had never set eyes on this woman prior to her coming here,

to-night?”

“I can swear it!” said Leroux.

“Good!” replied the detective, and closed his notebook with a snap.

“Usual formalities will have to be gone through, but I don't think I

need trouble you, gentlemen, any further, to-night.”