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He knew that he had established the connection between Joicey the Banker and the spare, gaunt Chinaman who kept a shop for miscellaneous wares in the dark colonnade beyond Paradise Street. Joicey had a short memory: he had forgotten whether he had met the Rev.
It was a long, hot walk to the bungalow where Joicey lived, over the Banking House itself, and the vast compound was arid and bare from three days of scorching drought. Coryndon's feet sounded gritting on the red, hard drive that led to the cool of the porch. No one called at such an hour; it was unheard of in Mangadone, where the day from two to five was sacred from interruption.
It doesn't count for much, but it goes to prove that she knows something of Heath which she won't give away. She knows something, or she wouldn't screen him. That is simple deduction." "Quite simple." "Now, with reference to Joicey," went on Hartley, with a frown. "I don't personally think that Joicey knows or remembers whether he did see Heath.
Perhaps, Ruler and King, the little boy is gone dead." "You ask me that, you devil?" "It is for the servant to ask," said Leh Shin, dropping his lids for a second. "Now, get out," said Joicey, between his clenched teeth. "And if you come here to me again, at night, I'll kill you." "The Great One will not do that," said Leh Shin, placidly. "My assistant waits for me.
"Not personally, but it cost the Bank close upon a quarter of a lakh." Joicey drummed his square-topped fingers on the table. "I can't imagine how he managed to get away." Hartley frowned. "I had all the landing-stages carefully watched, and the plague police warned. He must have gone before the warrant was out, that is, if he has ever left the country at all."
"Not in Mangadone, Mr. Joicey. Mangadone proper ends at the tram lines; the district beyond is known as Bhononie." Coryndon could see that his shot told. There were yellow patches around Joicey's eyes, and a purple shadow passed across his face, leaving it leaden.
It was a quarrel over cards, an' Greevy was drunk, an' followed Clint out into the prairie in the night and shot him like a coyote. Clint hadn't no chance, an' he jest lay there on the ground till morning, when Ricketts and Steve Joicey found him. An' Clint told Ricketts who it was." "Why didn't Ricketts tell it right out at once?" asked Sinnet.
Many things were bothering Joicey the financial year generally, a big commercial failure, the outlook for the rice crop and as the meal wore on he grew more dreary, and a pessimism that is part of some men's minds tinged everything he touched. "Did Rydal's disappearance affect you at all, personally?" Hartley asked, with some show of interest.
He was only another grain of red dust blown about by the wind of Fate, and though the Rector of St. Jude's might consider that, having been marked by the sign of the Cross, he was in some way different from the rest, neither Craven Joicey nor Clarice Wilder could be expected to take very much heed of the fact.
"I suppose you guess what I'm driving at, Joicey, though how you guess, I don't know." "I think I'll say good night here, Hartley," the Banker's voice was unnatural and wavering. "I can't discuss it with you. It's got to be proved," he spoke more heatedly. "What have you got? Only the word of a stinking native. I tell you it's monstrous."
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