The Crystal Claw by William Le Queux

Try as I would I could not dismiss from my mind that old Doctor Feng, if he was not actually the writer of the strange warnings I had received, was in some way associated with the sender.

But what possible motive could he have? I could see none. I had no sort of reason for thinking that he had any interest in Stanley Audley and did not want him discovered, or that he had the smallest antipathy to me personally: in fact he had invariably been extremely friendly. I had, it was true, sensed a kind of latent hostility to Thelma, but this appeared to be due more to the idea that I might make a fool of myself, rather than to any active dislike of her. And I could see no kind of reason why he should attempt to scare me by means of an anonymous letter. Yet the suspicion stuck in my mind and refused to be dismissed.

Could the sender be Stanley Audley himself? Was he alive, yet for some reason unable to come forward openly? He might have learnt something, and suspected more, of my friendship with Thelma, and, in a fit of jealousy, taken this means of trying to put a stop to it. This was a possibility I could not ignore, yet I never, for a moment, really believed it. On the other hand, I could not imagine anyone who could possibly feel towards me the rancorous hate betrayed by the sending of the letters.

I had worked myself into such a state that any real concentration upon business had become impossible and at length my partner, quite justifiably, took a strong line.

I had been engaged on an important right-of-way case in Derbyshire. A committee of villagers had begun an action against a local Council and I had been preparing instruction for the defense. Exasperated and distracted by the evil shadow that had fallen across my life I was bungling the business badly and at length had to turn it all over to Hensman.

"Really, Rex," he said, impatiently, "this can't go on. I cannot possibly do the whole work of the office."

I handed him the second warning letter. He read it slowly, frowning deeply the while.

"My dear Rex," he said, "this thing is getting on your nerves. Cut it, old man. Go up to Cromer and play golf for a week and think no more of the girl, or the elusive bridegroom. Don't mix yourself up with the affair any more -- unless -- "

"Unless -- yes, I know what you're going to say. Unless I'm in love with Thelma," I replied. "She has a suspicion -- only a suspicion, that her husband is dead."

"And then? " he asked. "And then I suppose you'd marry her -- the widow of a crook -- "

"How do we know he is a crook? " I asked. "We have no proof of it."

"Well, forged notes are pretty good evidence, aren't they? " asked my partner. "In any case you are quite unfit for work and it isn't fair on me -- or you, either, for that matter."

"But who can be sending me these threatening messages? " I asked him.

"Probably the wily husband himself. Wants a divorce, possibly. Perhaps he will come to Hensman & Yelverton to file the petition!"

"You're not serious! " I exclaimed pettishly. "You don't see what all this means to me -- the upsetting of my life and of my profession."

"I'm perfectly serious, anyhow, in saying this has got to end. We can't go on with one partner a passenger: things are getting behind. Cut the whole affair. Your friend Feng, as any man of sense would have been, was against it from the first. And how about that old invalid from Constantinople? Have you heard from him?"

"Not a word. That's a reminder. I'll write to the Ottoman Bank and see whether he is back again. But I don't see how he can help."

"He was back in London three days ago. Look! " Hensman said, passing me over a cutting from the _Times_. "I cut it out intending to give it to you."

I took the narrow little strip and read the words:

"Mr. Hartley Humphreys has returned from Constantinople to the Carlton Hotel."