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Bunner might come out of his bedroom. One of the servants who were supposed to be in bed might come round the corner from the other passage I had found Célestine prowling about quite as late as it was then. None of these things was very likely; but they were all too likely for me. They were uncertainties. Shut off from the household in Manderson's room I knew exactly what I had to face.
That night she could not sleep; but as she lay cold and rigid at her sister's side, she suddenly felt the pressure of Evelina's arms, and heard her whisper: "Oh, Ann Eliza, warn't it heavenly?" For four days after their Sunday in the Park the Bunner sisters had no news of Mr. Ramy.
Hawkins bent over to "settle" her pillows she raised herself on her elbow to whisper: "Oh, Mrs. Hawkins, Mrs. Hochmuller warn't there." The tears rolled down her cheeks. "She warn't there? Has she moved?" "Over two months ago and they don't know where she's gone. Oh what'll I do, Mrs. Hawkins?" "There, there, Miss Bunner. You lay still and don't fret. I'll ask Mr.
This was such a rooted habit in him that I was astonished to see him check the movement suddenly. Then, to my greater amazement, he swore viciously under his breath. I had never heard him do this before; but Bunner had told me that of late he had often shown irritation in this way when they were alone. 'Has he mislaid his note-case? was the question that flashed through my mind.
Mrs Manderson went to the drawing-room, and Bunner went up to the hotel to see an acquaintance. Manderson asked me to come into the orchard behind the house, saying he wished to have a talk. We paced up and down the pathway there, out of earshot from the house, and Manderson, as he smoked his cigar, spoke to me in his cool, deliberate way.
The Colossus had watched him for some time, and at length offered him the post of private secretary. Mr Bunner was a pattern business man, trustworthy, long-headed, methodical, and accurate.
Manderson was. 'Very well; and he rang for you that night about a quarter past eleven. Now can you remember exactly what he said? 'I think I can tell you with some approach to accuracy, sir. It was not much. First he asked me if Mr. Bunner had gone to bed, and I replied that he had been gone up some time.
To return to the matter in hand, however: has it struck you as a possibility that Manderson's mind was affected to some extent by this menace that Bunner believes in? For instance, it was rather an extraordinary thing to send you posting off like that in the middle of the night." "About ten o'clock, to be exact," replied Marlowe.
Can't you ... Oh, really? Well, in that case just hold on, will you?" He placed the receiver before Sir James. "It's Calvin Bunner, Sigsbee Manderson's right hand man," he said concisely. "He insists on speaking to you personally. Says it is the gravest piece of news. He is talking from the house down by Bishopsbridge, so it will be necessary to speak clearly."
New York City clung to less tender and more incisive habits of fiction; that city's pace for local color was set by the deft, bright Richard Harding Davis, Henry Cuyler Bunner, Brander Matthews, O. Henry all well known figures; by the late Herman Knickerbocker Vielé, too little known, in whose novels, such as The Last of the Knickerbockers, affectionate accuracy is mated with smiling, graceful humor; and by David Gray, too little known, whose Gallops, concerned with the horsy parish of St.
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