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"May I inquire if it is a recent photograph of the gentleman, sir?" he asked. "About six years ago," said the lieutenant, taking in this new actor in the drama with frank curiosity. "But he is very little changed." "Thank you, sir. I will endeavour to remember Mr. Creake, sir." Lieutenant Hollyer stood up as Parkinson left the room. The interview seemed to be at an end.

"I quite admit that Creake would be immensely relieved if such a thing did happen, but the chance is surely an absurdly remote one." "Yet unless we intervene it is precisely what a coroner's jury will decide has happened. Do you know whether your brother-in-law has any practical knowledge of electricity, Mr. Hollyer?" "I cannot say. He was so reserved, and we really knew so little of him "

Carrados maintained an uncompromising silence. Mr. Carlyle blew his nose and contrived to impart a hurt significance into the operation. Then Lieutenant Hollyer continued: "Millicent married Creake after a very short engagement. It was a frightfully subdued wedding more like a funeral to me.

"I see," agreed Hollyer. "I'm awfully uneasy but I'm entirely in your hands." "Then we will give Mr. Creake every inducement and every opportunity to get to work. Where are you staying now?" "Just now with some friends at St. Albans." "That is too far." The inscrutable eyes retained their tranquil depth but a new quality of quickening interest in the voice made Mr.

It was more than a week after his introduction to Carrados that Lieutenant Hollyer had a summons to present himself at The Turrets again. He found Mr. Carlyle already there and the two friends were awaiting his arrival. "I stayed in all day after hearing from you this morning, Mr. Carrados," he said, shaking hands. "When I got your second message I was all ready to walk straight out of the house.

Carrados, from one of our men. It was in connection with the foundering of the Ivan Saratov." Carrados wagged his head in good-humoured resignation. "And the owners were sworn to inviolable secrecy!" he exclaimed. "Well, it is inevitable, I suppose. Not another scuttling case, Mr. Hollyer?" "No, mine is quite a private matter," replied the lieutenant. "My sister, Mrs. Creake but Mr.

Carrados, it is my absolute conviction that Creake is only waiting for a favourable opportunity to murder Millicent." "Go on," said Carrados quietly. "A week of the depressing surroundings of Brookbend Cottage would not alone convince you of that, Mr. Hollyer." "I am not so sure," declared Hollyer doubtfully.

Here and there damage will be done to trees and buildings; here and there a person will probably be struck and killed." "Yes." "It is Mr. Creake's intention that his wife should be among the victims." "I don't exactly follow," said Hollyer, looking from one man to the other.

He was on the point of giving Harris the order to go on when his ear caught a trivial sound. "Someone is coming out of the house, Louis," he warned his friend. "It may be Hollyer, but he ought to have gone by this time." "I don't hear anyone," replied the other, but as he spoke a door banged noisily and Mr. Carlyle slipped into another seat and ensconced himself behind a copy of The Globe.

"Creake himself," he whispered across the car, as a man appeared at the gate. "Hollyer was right; he is hardly changed. Waiting for a car, I suppose." But a car very soon swung past them from the direction in which Mr. Creake was looking and it did not interest him. For a minute or two longer he continued to look expectantly along the road. Then he walked slowly up the drive back to the house.