Explore "The Forger" by Edgar Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE BIG consulting-room at 903, Harley Street differed as much from its kind as Mr. Cheyne Wells differed from the average consultant.
It was something between a drawing-room and the kind of a library which a lover of good books gathers together piecemeal as opportunity presents. There was comfort in the worn, but not too worn, furniture, in the deep, leather-covered settee drawn up before the red fire. Two walls were filled with shelves wedged with oddly bound, oddly sized volumes; there were books on the table, a newspaper dropped by a careless hand on the floor, but nothing of the apparatus of medicine -- not so much as a microscope or test tube.