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Radnor bids fair to become the idol of the English people. 'If he can prove himself to be sufficiently the dupe of the English people, said Colney. 'Idol dupe? interjected Sir Rodwell, and his eyebrows fixed at the perch of Colney's famous 'national interrogation' over vacancy of understanding, as if from the pull of a string.
'To think that he Richard Rodwell, Vicar of Bartown knew so little of the nature of God that he could say no single word that had significance for this dying soul! He was dumb. The words on his lips were the words of the Church. Out of his own heart, out of his own soul, out of his own experience, he could say nothing.
Bundercombe had called Dagger Rodwell alighted from the motor and stood for a moment looking into the windows of Tarteran's shop before he entered. He was faultlessly dressed in morning clothes, smoking a cigarette and carrying a silver-headed cane. After some hesitation he entered the shop. Mr. Bundercombe drew a little breath. He had been looking at another part of the street.
That watchfullest showing no alarm, the absurdity of the suspicion smothered it. Nataly had moreover to receive startling new guests: Lady Rodwell Blachington: Mrs. Fanning, wife of the General: young Mrs. Blathenoy, wife of the great bill-broker: ladies of Wrensham and about. And it was a tasking of her energies equal to the buffeting of recurrent waves on deep sea.
'A visit signifies . . . 'Whatever it signifies! 'I'm thinking of the bit of annoyance. 'To me? Anything appointed, finds me ready the next minute. Her smile was flatteringly bright. 'By the way, keep your City people close about you: entertain as much as possible; dine them, she said. 'At home? 'Better. Sir Rodwell Blachington, Sir Abraham Quatley: and their wives.
"Deep down there must be something aboriginal in me, for I find myself thrilling to all sorts of wild things. Last night I was talking with Mrs. Rodwell. Her husband used to be the trader up at Kootlach, and she was telling me of a white man who lived up there as a chief. He was a man of education, a graduate of Oxford and he preferred that life to the life of civilization.
But, you see, Detective-Sergeant Rodwell here, chanced to see him come out of the shop, and, recognising him as the jewel-thief we've wanted for months past, followed his cab down to Charing Cross Station, and there arrested him and took him to Bow Street." I stood utterly dumbfounded at this sudden ending of what I had believed would be an ideal engagement.
He told Sir Rodwell the story of how they had met in the salle a manger of the hotel the impresario of a Concert in the town, who had in his hand the doctor's certificate of the incapacity of the chief cantatrice to appear, and waved it, within a step of suicide.
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