THE LADY OF THE CIVET FURS

      The Yellow Claw

      Author: Sax Rohmer

      Henry Leroux wrote busily on. The light of the table-lamp, softened and

      enriched by its mosaic shade, gave an appearance of added opulence to

      the already handsome appointments of the room. The little table-clock

      ticked merrily from half-past eleven to a quarter to twelve.

      Into the cozy, bookish atmosphere of the novelist's study penetrated the

      muffled chime of Big Ben; it chimed the three-quarters. But, with his

      mind centered upon his work, Leroux wrote on ceaselessly.

      An odd figure of a man was this popular novelist, with patchy and

      untidy hair which lessened the otherwise striking contour of his brow.

      A neglected and unpicturesque figure, in a baggy, neutral-colored

      dressing-gown; a figure more fitted to a garret than to this spacious,

      luxurious workroom, with the soft light playing upon rank after rank

      of rare and costly editions, deepening the tones in the Persian carpet,

      making red morocco more red, purifying the vellum and regilding the

      gold of the choice bindings, caressing lovingly the busts and statuettes

      surmounting the book-shelves, and twinkling upon the scantily-covered

      crown of Henry Leroux. The door bell rang.

      Leroux, heedless of external matters, pursued his work. But the door

      bell rang again and