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This unique version includes annotations on:

- biography of the author
- literary critique
- historical context of the book


Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward (15 February 1883 - 1 June 1959), better known as Sax Rohmer, was a prolific English novelist. He is most remembered for his series of novels featuring the master criminal Dr. Fu Manchu.

Born in Birmingham, Rohmer ... More

This unique version includes annotations on:

- biography of the author
- literary critique
- historical context of the book


Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward (15 February 1883 - 1 June 1959), better known as Sax Rohmer, was a prolific English novelist. He is most remembered for his series of novels featuring the master criminal Dr. Fu Manchu.

Born in Birmingham, Rohmer had an entirely working class education and early career before beginning to write.

Rohmer, like his contemporaries Algernon Blackwood and Arthur Machen, was a member of one of the factions of the qabbalistic Order, the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

His first published work was in 1903, the short story The Mysterious Mummy for Pearson's Weekly. He made his early living writing comedy sketches for music hall performers and short stories and serials for magazines. In 1909 he married Rose Knox. He published his first novel Pause! anonymously in 1910 and the first Fu Manchu story, The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu, was serialized over 1912-13. It was an immediate success with its fast paced story of Sir Denis Nayland Smith and Dr. Petrie facing the worldwide conspiracy of the 'Yellow Peril'. The Fu Manchu stories, together with those featuring Gaston Max or Morris Klaw, made Rohmer one of the most successful and well-paid writers in of the 1920s and 1930s. But Rohmer was very poor at handling his wealth. After World War II the Rohmers moved to New York.

Rohmer died in 1959 due to an outbreak of avian influenza ("Asian Flu").


Opening paragraph of the book:

Toward the hour of six on a hot summer's evening Mr. Paul Harley was
seated in his private office in Chancery Lane reading through a number
of letters which Innes, his secretary, had placed before him for
signature. Only one more remained to be passed, but it was a long,
confidential report upon a certain matter, which Harley had prepared
for His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department.
He glanced with a sigh of weariness at the little clock upon his table
before commencing to read.

"Shall detain you only a few minutes, now, Knox," he said.

I nodded, smiling. I was quite content to sit and watch my friend at
work.

Paul Harley occupied a unique place in the maelstrom of vice and
ambition which is sometimes called London life. Whilst at present he
held no official post, some of the most momentous problems of British
policy during the past five years, problems imperilling inter-state
relationships and not infrequently threatening a renewal of the world
war, had owed their solution to the peculiar genius of this man.

No clue to his profession appeared upon the plain brass plate attached
to his door, and little did those who regarded Paul Harley merely as a
successful private detective suspect that he was in the confidence of
some who guided the destinies of the Empire. Paul Harley's work in
Constantinople during the feverish months preceding hostilities with
Turkey, although unknown to the general public, had been of a most
extraordinary nature. His recommendations were never adopted,
unfortunately. Otherwise, the tragedy of the Dardanelles might have
been averted.

His surroundings as he sat there, gaze bent upon the typewritten pages,
were those of any other professional man. So it would have seemed to
the casual observer. But perhaps there was a quality in the atmosphere
of the office which would have told a more sensitive visitor that it
was the apartment of no ordinary man of business. Whilst there were
filing cabinets and bookshelves laden with works of reference, many of
them legal, a large and handsome Burmese cabinet struck an unexpected
note.

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