The Yellow Claw eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 339 pages of information about The Yellow Claw.

Finishing his tankard of ale, he shuffled out into the street, the line of his bent shoulders running parallel with that of his hat-brim.  His hat appeared to be several sizes too large for his head, and his skull was only prevented from disappearing into the capacious crown by the intervention of his ears, which, acting as brackets, supported the whole weight of the rain-sodden structure.  He mounted a tram proceeding in the same direction as that which had borne off the Scotland Yard men.  Quitting this at Bow Road, he shuffled into the railway station, and from Bow Road proceeded to Liverpool Street.  Emerging from the station at Liverpool Street, he entered a motor-’bus bound westward.

His neighbors, inside, readily afforded him ample elbow room; and, smiling agreeably at every one, including the conductor (who resented his good-humor) and a pretty girl in the corner seat (who found it embarrassing) he proceeded to Charing Cross.  Descending from the ’bus, he passed out into Leicester Square and plunged into the network of streets which complicates the map of Soho.  It will be of interest to follow him.

In a narrow turning off Greek Street, and within hail of the popular Bohemian restaurants, he paused before a doorway sandwiched between a Continental newsagent’s and a tiny French cafe; and, having fumbled in his greasy raiment he presently produced a key, opened the door, carefully closed it behind him, and mounted the dark stair.

On the top floor he entered a studio, boasting a skylight upon which the rain was drumming steadily and drearily.  Lighting a gas burner in one corner of the place which bore no evidence of being used for its legitimate purpose—­he entered a little adjoining dressing-room.  Hot and cold water were laid on there, and a large zinc bath stood upon the floor.  With the aid of an enamel bucket, Mr. Abraham Levinsky filled the bath.

Leaving him to his ablutions, let us glance around the dressing-room.  Although there was no easel in the studio, and no indication of artistic activity, the dressing-room was well stocked with costumes.  Two huge dress-baskets were piled in one corner, and their contents hung upon hooks around the three available walls.  A dressing table, with a triplicate mirror and a suitably shaded light, presented a spectacle reminiscent less of a model’s dressing-room than of an actor’s.

At the expiration of some twenty-five minutes, the door of this dressing-room opened; and although Abraham Levinsky had gone in, Abraham Levinsky did not come out!

Carefully flicking a particle of ash from a fold of his elegant, silk-lined cloak, a most distinguished looking gentleman stepped out onto the bleak and dirty studio.  He wore, in addition to a graceful cloak, which was lined with silk of cardinal red, a soft black hat, rather wide brimmed and dented in a highly artistic manner, and irreproachable evening clothes; his linen was immaculate; and no valet in London could have surpassed the perfect knotting of his tie.  His pearl studs were elegant and valuable; and a single eyeglass was swung about his neck by a thin, gold chain.  The white gloves, which fitted perfectly, were new; and if the glossy boots were rather long in the toe-cap from an English point of view, the gold-headed malacca cane which the newcomer carried was quite de rigeur.

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The Yellow Claw from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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