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"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell." "Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's place of business?" "He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street." "Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you.
"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell." "Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's place of business?" "He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street." "Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you.
Your name is not Clarke, but Westhouse, or Waterhouse, and you are the same cursed exciseman who snackled our poor comrade, Cooper Dick, and swore away his life at Ilchester. 'I swear that you are mistaken, I replied. 'I have never in my life been in these parts before. 'Fine words! Fine words! cried another smuggler. 'Gauger or no, you must jump for it, since you know the secret of our cave.
Exciseman Westhouse hath slain Cooper Dick, and it is just that he should die for it; but as to taking this young soldier's life, I'd as soon think of scuttling the saucy Maria, or of mounting the Jolly Roger at her peak.
"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description. I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé, James Windibank. Voil
"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description, I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise, the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travelers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address, asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten, and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employee, James Windibank. Voil
It was my father who came home in the evening with his mouth full of poor Jim. He had been deadly drunk since midday, had been down to Westhouse Links to fight the gipsy champion, and it was not certain that the man would live through the night. My father had met Jim on the highroad, dour as a thunder-cloud, and with an insult in his eye for every man that passed him.
He'll know his face, if any will. 'Call him, then, said Murgatroyd, and presently a long, loose-limbed seaman came up from the mouth of the cave, where he had been on watch. He wore a red kerchief round his forehead, and a blue jerkin, the sleeve of which he slowly rolled up as he came nigh. 'Where is Gauger Westhouse? he cried; 'he has left his mark on my arm.
He was a square dogged-faced fellow, with a long white scar down his cheek, and a close-fitting blue coat with brass buttons. 'It's Gauger Westhouse! cried a chorus of voices. 'Yes, it is Gauger Westhouse, said the man calmly, giving his neck a wriggle as though he were in pain.
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