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Just behind my chair, and a little back of it, stood a high buhl cabinet. The glass door was shattered. I asked: "Was this the direction of your first shot or your second?" The answer came promptly. "The second; the first was over there!" He turned a little to the left, more toward the wall where the great safe stood, and pointed.
Windows, it must be remembered, were in those days so few and far between that the folks inside had remained quite unaware of what was going on without. The door was opened cautiously enough; and out looked, to the shame of knighthood, be it said, two or three knights who had taken shelter in the bower with the ladies.
Cavendish was still sleeping as he had left him, with a stalwart negro porter, summoned from the Capitol by telephone early that morning, watching in a chair. Under Barclay's orders, a carpenter had already removed the splintered door of the wine-closet, and an upholsterer had replaced it by a slender brass rod from which swung a velvet curtain.
You will naturally think that it was an appointment with his ladylove which he had forgotten; this was certainly my supposition as I turned again to the front door. There stood one of the waitresses, glaring with her white eyes half out of her black face at the already distant back of John Mayrant. "Oh!"
His face was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure, the inward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent all the previous night alone, God knows where. But anyway he had reached a decision. He knocked at the door which was opened by his mother. Dounia was not at home. Even the servant happened to be out.
Now you go in there with Roderick, and I shall call for you when I come back from my shopping. Bye, bye." She shoved him up the steps and right in at the door, and skipped away, laughing over her shoulder at the trick she had played. Her father stood a moment looking after her, not knowing whether to be angry or amused.
The stranger made no answer, and the hostess nervously hurried the guests on. But the rector lingered and looked perplexed. "Surely, I know you. I have met you somewhere," he said, putting his hand vaguely to his head. "You you remember me, do you not?" The stranger quietly swept his cloak aside, and to the hostess' unspeakable relief passed out of the door.
I will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in the month of June, the year of grace 1751, when I took the key for the last time out of the door of my father's house.
With this, looking again at the rock with a sad and bewildered face, and then casting a sorrowful glance at the bear, which lay by the door of the lodge, the hunter took his leave, bewailing bitterly at heart the loss of his friend and his bear. He was scarcely out of sight when Manabozho sent the children to get red willow sticks.
Ripton was landed at a hotel in Westminster. Ere he was halfway up the stairs, a door opened, and his old comrade in adventure rushed down. Richard allowed no time for salutations. "Have you done it?" was all he asked. For answer Ripton handed him Mrs. Berry's card. Richard took it, and left him standing there.
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