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The point at this moment seems to me to be, what does Melis know that you don't want me to know? I suppose you don't intend to tell me." "Not here. You may believe it or not, Bassett, but I was going to your town to-night to see you." "Well," Bassett said sceptically, "I've got your word for it. And I've got nothing to do all day but to listen to you."
The growth of a genuine national literature in the Netherlands, which had produced during the latter part of the 13th century a Maerlandt and a Melis Stoke, was for some considerable time checked and retarded by the influence of the Burgundian régime, where French, as the court language, was generally adopted by the upper classes.
I want to show you something." Suddenly, with the letter in his hand, Bassett laughed and then tore it open. There was only a sheet of blank paper inside. "I wasn't sure you'd see it, and I didn't think you'd fall for it if you did," he observed. "But I was pretty sure you didn't want me to see Melis. Now I know it." "Well, I didn't," Gregory said sullenly. "Just the same, I expect to see him.
And Jud's dead. Even Wilkins knows that." She turned on him angrily. "You haven't a heart, have you? You're glad he's dead." "Not at all. As long as he kept under cover he was all right. But if he is, I don't see why you should fool yourself into thinking you're sorry. It's the best solution to a number of things." "What do you suppose brought Jean Melis here?" "What?
The chauffeur had been instructed to take me to the Mairie a great dark building of stone halls and stairways, of sentries everywhere, of elaborate officers and much ceremony. But soon, in a great hall of the old building piled high with army supplies, I was talking to General Melis, and my troubles were over. A kindly and courteous gentleman, he put me at my ease at once.
The commander-in-chief of this squadron was Oliver de Noort, a man at that time about thirty or thereabouts, and well known as having made several long cruising voyages. His second in command and vice-admiral was Jacob Claaz d'Ulpenda, and as pilot there was a certain Melis, a skilful sailor of English origin.
"Personal: Jean Melis, who was in Norada, Wyoming, during the early fall of 1911 please communicate with L 22, this office." The orchestra was still playing outside; the silly, giggling crowds were moving back to their seats, and somewhere Jean Melis, or the friends of Jean Melis, who would tell him of it, were reading that message.
Wasn't that why Gregory had been so assured? But he had not been content to let well enough alone; he had perhaps overreached himself. Then what was the answer? She had killed Lucas, but was it an accident? And there must have been a witness, or they would have had nothing to fear. He wrote out on a bit of paper three names, and sat looking at them: Hattie Thorwald Jean Melis Clifton Hines.
I would have told it all in court, but it never came to trial." Bassett was satisfied and fairly content. After the Frenchman's departure he sat for some time, making careful notes and studying them. Supposing the man Melis had seen to be Clifton Hines, a good many things would be cleared up. Some new element he had to have, if Gregory's story were to be disproved, some new and different motive.
She also admits hiding the revolver where you found it." "Then you do not need me." "I'm not so sure of that." The valet was puzzled. "I want you to think back, Melis. You saw her go down the stairs, sometime before the shot. Later you were confident she had hidden the revolver, and you made a second search for it. Why? You hadn't heard her testimony at the inquest then. Clark had run away.
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