The Scarlet Scourge : A Detective Story

Madame Violette  stood before the open window, sensing the heat which came in waves from pavements and buildings, sniffing at the stagnant air, watching the seething, sweltering humanity on the street below her.She glanced up at the blazing sky and into a yellowish haze that seemed to be making an ineffectual attempt to counteract the work of the merciless sun.“There will be a storm,” she whispered to herself. “I can feel it—there is going to be a storm!”Madame Violette sighed and turned away from the window, and for a moment regarded her reflection in the full-length mirror in one corner of the room. She saw a rather stout person of fifty, with an abundance of hair which was “touched up” continually, a face that knew frequent massage, hands that were well kept and often manicured. Madame Violette represented the ever-present tragedy of a woman refusing to grow old, clinging to a youth that was past and gone, seeking yet some things that had been denied her.