Part 2

XXIV OPIUM

XXV FATE'S SHUTTLECOCK

XXVI “OUR LADY OF THE POPPIES”

XXVII GROVE OF A MILLION APES

XXVIII THE OPIUM AGENT

XXIX M. MAX OF LONDON AND M. MAX OF PARIS

XXX MAHARA

XXXI MUSK AND ROSES

XXXII BLUE BLINDS

XXXIII LOGIC VS. INTUITION

XXXIV M. MAX REPORTS PROGRESS

XXXV TRACKER TRACKED

XXXVI IN DUNBAR'S ROOM

XXXVII THE WHISTLE

XXXVIII THE SECRET TRAPS

XXXIX THE LABYRINTH

XL DAWN AT THE NORE

XLI WESTMINSTER--MIDNIGHT

THE YELLOW CLAW

THE LADY OF THE CIVET FURS

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 continued to ring.

“Soames! Soames!” Leroux raised his voice irascibly, continuing to write the while. “Where the devil are you! Can't you hear the door bell?”

Soames did not reveal himself; and to the ringing of the bell was added the unmistakable rattling of a letter-box.

“Soames!” Leroux put down his pen and stood up. “Damn it! he's out! I have no memory!”

He retied the girdle of his dressing-gown, which had become unfastened, and opened the study door. Opposite, across the entrance lobby, was the outer door; and in the light from the lobby lamp he perceived two laughing eyes peering in under the upraised flap of the letter-box. The ringing ceased.