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I believe he has done it more, but I am prepared to swear to seven times." The colonel looked at Lindsay, who said: "I have seen suspicious movements eleven times, but I should not like to swear to more than four." "And you, Mr. Holmes?" "I can swear to five times, but I believe he did it much oftener than that." "What have you to say, Captain Sanders?"
"Even when you're dealing with friends?" "Especially when you're dealing with friends," corrected the older man. "Otherwise you're likely not to have your friends long." "Don't believe I want to be a financier," decided Sanders. "It takes the hot blood out of you," admitted Graham.
After thinking deeply for a long time, she wrote "Philip Sanders, General Delivery," and below she added a postscript: To save you the trouble of inquiring among your friends as to who Philip Sanders is, I might as well tell you in the beginning that he isn't.
Sanders is still the manager, and nearly all the same old faces are in the office. George, who is now verging on the legal age of manhood, has risen to a good position in the establishment, and is regarded as second only to Mr. Sanders. He is wonderfully altered from when we saw him first in that office.
This bars one type of fraud being alleged. Sanders, besides hearing thumping, groans, and the rustling of a lady's dress, had his bedclothes lifted up and let fall again "first at the foot of my bed, but gradually coming towards the head." He held the clothes round his neck with his hands, but they were "gently lifted in spite of my efforts to hold them."
In their eagerness to be at the sermon many of the congregation did not notice him, and those who did put the matter by in their minds for future investigation. Sam'l however, could not take it so coolly. From his seat in the gallery he saw Sanders disappear, and his mind misgave him. With the true lover's instinct he understood it all.
Sanders, and the banner so solemnly consecrated; and of the sands of Smerwick, when all was over a year later, and the six hundred bodies, men and women who had preferred Mr. Buxton's spiritual kingdom to Elizabeth's kindly rule, stripped and laid out in rows, like dead game, for Lord Grey de Wilton to reckon them by.
To give himself time he fell again into the device of pretending that he did not understand English. Dave spoke in Spanish. The loafers in the bar-room came out to listen. "I do not know what you mean." "Don't lie to me. Where is she?" The keeper of the tendejon asked a suave question. He, too, talked in Spanish. "Who are you, señor? A deputy sheriff, perhaps?" "No. My name is Dave Sanders.
Dug figures to capture our camp without firin' a shot. And he'd 'a' done it, too, if we hadn't had warnin'." Sanders frowned, his mind busy over the plan. "It ought to work, unless something upsets it," he said. "Sure it'll work. You darned old fox, I never did see yore beat. Say, if we pull this off right, Dug's gonna pretty near be laughed outa the county." "Keep it quiet.
I reckon you've heard how the Governor of Colorado pardoned him. This town's crazy about Sanders. Claims he was framed for the penitentiary. Right now he could be elected to any office he went after." Steelman's restless black eyes watched furtively the effect of his taunting on this man, a victim of wild and uncurbed passions.
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