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The Yellow Claw

Doctors Differ
Dr. Cumberly walked slowly upstairs to his own flat, a picture etched indelibly upon his
mind, of Henry Leroux, with a face of despair, sitting below in his dining-room and
listening to the ominous sounds proceeding from the study, where the police were now
busily engaged. In the lobby he met his daughter Helen, who was waiting for him in a
state of nervous suspense.
"Father!" she began, whilst rebuke died upon the doctor's lips-- "tell me quickly what has
happened."
Perceiving that an explanation was unavoidable, Dr. Cumberly outlined the story of the
night's gruesome happenings, whilst Big Ben began to chime the hour of one.
Helen, eager-eyed, and with her charming face rather pale, hung upon every word of the
narrative.
"And now," concluded her father, "you must go to bed. I insist."
"But father!" cried the girl--"there is some thing" . . .
She hesitated, uneasily.
"Well, Helen, go on," said the doctor.
"I am afraid you will refuse."
"At least give me the opportunity."
"Well--in the glimpse, the half-glimpse, which I had of her, I seemed" . . .
Dr. Cumberly rested his hands upon his daughter's shoulders characteristically, looking
into the troubled gray eyes.
"You don't mean," he began . . .
"I thought I recognized her!" whispered the girl.
"Good God! can it be possible?"
"I have been trying, ever since, to recall where we had met, but without result. It might
mean so much" . . .
Dr. Cumberly regarded her, fixedly.
"It might mean so much to--Mr. Leroux. But I suppose you will say it is impossible?"
"It IS impossible," said Dr. Cumberly firmly; "dismiss the idea, Helen."
 
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