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More than once there have been clues which pointed to such a conclusion, merely clever ruses on the thieves' part. No, our clue is the dead man." Quarles questioned Constable Poulton closely. The constable had not heard the shots. About half an hour earlier in the evening he had passed Clarence Lodge. There was no light in the house then. Just before one o'clock he had met Mr.
No doubt that was the intention, but the work was badly done because the thieves did it hurriedly," I answered. "One of your foolish questions, Zena," said Quarles, looking keenly at her. He always declared that her foolish inquiries put him on the right road. "It is a good thing the lead did slip, or the gruesome theft might never have been discovered," she said.
"Oh, it was only a point that occurred to me as an outsider," Quarles returned. "We can leave him out of the argument and yet not be convinced there is no family skeleton. You might perhaps question your mother without explaining the reason, although I suppose she will have to know about this affair presently." "I hope not." "Acute rheumatism, isn't it?
"Then you believe Williams was getting out of the taxi?" I asked. "Let me talk about the contents of this first," said Quarles, separating an envelope from some papers on the table. "You will admit that I examined the taxi fairly thoroughly." "You certainly did." "And I came to one or two very definite conclusions, Wigan.
They were brought by no less a person than Deputy Sheriff Quarles, who, some twenty minutes or possibly half an hour later, obtruded himself upon Judge Priest's presence. "Judge," began Mr.
Quarles talked to me chiefly about a wife he was returning to at Bohn. He became almost maudlin in his sentiment, and at intervals he raised his voice sufficiently to allow our traveling companions to overhear the conversation.
The philosophic and meditative taste of the age had produced indeed poetic schools of its own: poetic satire had become fashionable in Hall, better known afterwards as a bishop, and had been carried on vigorously by George Wither; the so-called "metaphysical" poetry, the vigorous and pithy expression of a cold and prosaic good sense, began with Sir John Davies and buried itself in fantastic affectations in Donne; religious verse had become popular in the gloomy allegories of Quarles and the tender refinement which struggles through a jungle of puns and extravagances in George Herbert.
Squires had disappeared, but we could hear running feet in the distance. "That settles it," said Quarles, coming to halt a dozen yards from the corner. "Go on if you like, Wigan, but " I heard no more. Something struck me, enveloped me, and there was an end. I am not very sure when a new beginning happened.
"Isn't it more probable that she went away willingly?" said Zena. "You don't help me, my dear," said the professor with a frown, and the suggestion seemed to irritate him. It stuck in his mind, however, for when we went to see Sir Michael the idea was evidently behind his first question. "Is there any love affair?" asked Quarles.
"Was the coffin a very elaborate one?" Quarles asked, after nodding an acquiescence to Zena's remark. "No, quite a plain one." "Has the drawing-room more than one door?" "Only one into the hall. There is a small room out of the drawing-room a small drawing-room in fact. Lady Rusholm does her correspondence there.
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