United States or Albania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I was a young man when Cunnigan-bahadur raised a regiment and licked the half of Rajputana into shape with it. Not too old, sahib, to wish there were another Cunnigan to ride with!" "Well, Mahommed Gunga, you're closer to your wish than you suppose! Young Cunningham's gazetted, and probably just about starting on his way out here via the Cape of Good Hope.
She has met him occasionally in company in other houses memorably in that of the late Mrs Cunningham, Lord Cunningham's widow but never, so far as she can remember, in that of her father. He was at that time considered a good talker his company was sought for the sake of his conversation. His defect in conversation was that he was a bad listener. His own part was well sustained.
"Miss McLean and Uncle James married at Golden on the twenty-first of last month? Are you sure?" "Aren't you? What did you think we found out?" Cunningham's eyes narrowed. A film of caution spread over them. "Oh, I don't know. You're so enterprising you might discover almost anything. It's really a pity with your imagination that you don't go into fiction."
But Shibo interfered. He pushed his hand into the pocket of the smoking-jacket and drew out a pocket-book. It bulged with bills. In two sentences Shibo sketched a plan of operations. They would steal the money and lay the blame for it on the Hulls. Cunningham's own testimony would convict the fat man and his wife. The evidence of the two Japanese would corroborate his.
Cunningham's eyelids flickered. There was a bottle of chloroform on the desk. The promoter had recently suffered pleurisy pains and had been advised by his doctor to hold a little of the drug against the place where they caught him most sharply. Shibo snatched up the bottle, drenched a handkerchief with some of its contents, and dropped the handkerchief over the wounded man's face.
"Can you tell me where James Cunningham's apartment is?" asked Kirby. The woman gasped. The hand on the doorknob was trembling violently. Something clicked in her throat when the dry lips tried to frame an answer. "Head o' the stairs right hand," she managed to get out, then shut the door swiftly in the face of the man whose simple question had so shocked her.
He was young in the early twenties. The manner in which he saluted convinced Dennison that the fellow had recently been in the United States Navy. "Mr. Cunningham's compliments, sir. Canvas has been rigged on the port promenade and chairs and rugs set out." Another salute and he was off. "Well, that's decent enough," was Dennison's comment. "That chap has been in the Navy.
"I can promise to keep you interested," he said, very quietly. Jack rose. He wore white shoes, duck trousers, a white pique shirt, and a blue serge coat that fitted his graceful figure perfectly. "What did you do that for?" he demanded. "Open that door!" "Not just yet, Jack. I've come for a settlement. It's up to you to say what kind of a one it'll be." Cunningham's dark eyes glittered.
Margaret went to Mrs. Cunningham's door with her. "How I wish I could go in and see the sensation you'll make, Aunt Beatrice," she whispered. "You dear, silly child! It's just the purple and fine linen," laughed Aunt Beatrice. But she did not altogether think so, and she rang the doorbell unquailingly. In the hall Mrs. Cunningham herself came beamingly to greet her. "My dear Beatrice! I'm so glad.
"May have been dead a couple o' days," he continued. "What was the sense in killin' him? What for? How did he come into it?" Cole's boyish face wrinkled in perplexity. "I don't make head or tail of this thing. Cunningham's enemies couldn't be his enemies, too, do you reckon?" "More likely he knew too much an' had to be got out of the road."
Word Of The Day