Sax Rohmer

“ Lashmore's face was twitching. "But you are about to hear what no man has ever heard from the lips of one of my family before."
He stood up again, restlessly.
"Nearly thirty-five years have elapsed," he resumed, "since that December night; but my very soul trembles now, when I recall it! There was a big house-party at Dhoon, but I had been prepared, for some weeks, by my father, for the ordeal that awaited me. Our family mystery is historical, and there were many fearful glances bestowed upon me, when, at midnight, my father took me aside from the company and led me to the old library. By God! ”

“ Lord Lashmore was a big, blonde man, fresh coloured, and having his nearly white hair worn close cut and his moustache trimmed in the neat military fashion. For a fair man, he had eyes of a singular colour. They were of so dark a shade of brown as to appear black: southern eyes; lending to his personality an oddness very striking.
When he was shown into Dr. Cairn's library, the doctor regarded him with that searching scrutiny peculiar to men of his profession, at the same time inviting the visitor to be seated. ”

“ At that, Lashmore started in good earnest.
"To what do you refer?"
"Lord Lashmore, you have come to me for advice. A rare ailment—happily very rare in England—has assailed you. Circumstances have been in your favour thus far, but a recurrence is to be anticipated at any time. Be good enough to look upon me as a specialist, and give me all your confidence."
Lashmore cleared his throat.
"What do you wish to know, Dr. Cairn?" he asked, with a queer intermingling of respect and hauteur in his tones.
"I wish to know about Mirza, wife of the third Baron Lashmore." ”