The Crystal Claw by William Le Queux

A few days later a client of ours named Powell for whom we were conducting a piece of rather intricate business concerning a mortgage of some land in Essex, invited me to join himself and his wife at dinner at the Savoy.

Our table was in a corner near the orchestra and the big restaurant was crowded. Sovrani, the famous _maître d'hôtel_ knew all three of us well and we dined excellently under his tactful supervision. After dinner Mrs. Powell, a pretty young woman, exquisitely gowned, suggested a dance in the room below. We went there and danced until about half-past ten when Powell said:

"Let's go to the Ham-bone."

"The Ham-bone," I echoed. "What on earth is that?"

"Oh! " laughed Mrs. Powell, "it is one of London's merriest Bohemian dance clubs. The male members are all artists, sculptors or literary men, and the female members are all girls who earn their own living -- mannequins, secretaries, artists' models and girl journalists. It is screamingly amusing. Quite Bohemian and yet high select, isn't it, Harry?"

"I've never heard of it," I said.

"Well, one gets a really splendid dinner there for half-a-crown, though, of course, you get paper serviettes, and for supper after the hours, you men can have a kipper -- a brand that is extra special -- and a drink with it," she went on.

"Yes, Leila," laughed her husband. "The place is unique. Half the people in ‘smart' society, men as well as women, want to become members, but the Committee, who are all well-known artists, don't want the man-about-town: they only want the real hard-working Bohemians who go there at night for relaxation. Burlac, the sculptor, put me up."

The novelty of the idea attracted me, so we went in a taxicab to an uninviting looking mews off Great Windmill Street, behind the Café Monico in Piccadilly Circus. Walking up it, we passed through a narrow swing-door, over which hung a dim feeble light and a big ham-bone!

Up a precipitous flight of narrow stone steps we went until we reached a little door where a stout ex-sergeant of police smiled recognition upon my host, placed a book before him to sign and relieved us of our coats.

In a room above a piano was being played by someone who was evidently an artist and dancing was in progress.

The place might have been a cabaret in the _Montmartre_ in Paris. I thought I knew London's night clubs fairly well -- the Embassy, Ciro's, the Grafton, the Mayfair, the Royalty, the Twenty, Murray's, Tate's, the Trippers, the Dainty, and others -- but when I entered the big whitewashed dancing room I found myself looking on a scene that was a complete novelty to me.

The room was long and narrow. The walls were painted in stripes representing oaken beams and set around them were many small tables. The floor was filled with merry dancers, among whom I recognized many people well-known in artistic and social circles. Some of the men wore dinner jackets and many of the women were in beautiful evening dress, but smart clothes evidently were regarded as a non-essential, for a large proportion of the men wore ordinary lounge suits.

As we stood watching the scene a tall, elderly man rose from a table and cried:

"Hulloa! Leila! What a stranger you are!"

My hostess smiled and waved recognition, whereupon her friend -- a portrait painter whose reputation was world-wide, bowed over her hand and said:

"Well, only fancy! It is really delightful that you should return to us! We thought we'd lost you after you married!"

"My dear Charlie," she laughed -- for it was a rule in the Ham-bone that every member addressed every one else by his or her Christian name, and "Charlie" was a Royal Academician -- "I am an old Hamyardian: I was one of the first lady members."

"Of course. You'll find Marigold here. I've just been chatting with her. She's round the corner, over yonder. But she's funny. What's the matter with her? Do you know? " he added in a low, serious voice.

"No, I didn't know there was anything wrong," replied my hostess.