Edgar Wallace

The Blue Hand Edgar Wallace

Mr. Septimus Salter pressed the bell on his table for the third time and uttered a soft growl. He was a stout, elderly man, and with his big red face and white side-whiskers, looked more like a prosperous farmer than a successful lawyer. The cut of his clothes was queerly out of date, the high white collar and the black satin cravat that bulged above a flowered waistcoat were of the fashion of 1850, in which year Mr. Salter was a little ahead of his time so far as fashions were concerned. But the years had caught him up and passed him, and although there was not a more up-to-date solicitor in London, he remained faithful to the style in which he had made a reputation as a "buck."He pressed the bell again, this time impatiently."Confound the fellow!" he muttered, and rising to his feet, he stalked into the little room where his secretary was usually to be found.