United States or North Macedonia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The noise of the passing train had scarcely died away, when from just behind them the hideous shriek of Mac Alarney's motor-horn rose blastingly three times upon the night air, the last fainter than the others, as if the pursuing car had dropped back. "He's beaten! He couldn't keep up the pace, much less better it," Blaine remarked.
There they carried you into the office of a fake company, kept you until closing time, and got you out of the building as a drunkard, conveying you to Mac Alarney's retreat in his own machine. Nobody employed in the building was in their pay but the elevator man, and he's got his, along with the rest!
Once he glanced back, and started, casting a perturbed glance at the immovable face of the detective, as he remarked: "Mr. Blaine, are you aware that we are being followed?" "Oh, yes. Give yourself no uneasiness on that score, Doctor. They are two of my machines, filled with my men, and a Walton ambulance for Mr. Hamilton. We will reach Mac Alarney's retreat in an hour, now.
Blaine's do you refer, Mr. Mallowe?" "Why, to his discovery of Ramon, of course." Mr. Mallowe looked from one to the other of them as if nonplused by Anita's unexpected attitude. Then he continued hurriedly, with a show of enthusiasm. "It was wonderful, unprecedented! But how did Ramon come to be in Mac Alarney's retreat, and so shockingly injured?"
Mac Alarney's brows drew close together, and he stared levelly from beneath them at the detective's exultant face. "That young man with the fractured skull in the corner room upstairs the one you brought Doctor Alwyn to attend last night when you know who he is you're going up in the air!
Blaine?" the latter queried in an anxious whisper, as they settled themselves to wait with what patience they could muster. "Could that suggestion of his have been merely a ruse to separate your assistants from you?" The detective smiled. "Hardly, Doctor. It's part of my profession to have made a study of human nature, and Mac Alarney's type is an open book to me.
He held the tiny thumbnail picture before Mac Alarney's amazed eyes. "The Doctor took it last night, at the bedside of the young man upstairs, when you thought he was feeling his pulse. That watch of his was in reality a camera." With a roar, the burly man turned upon the erect, unshrinking figure of the gray-haired doctor, but Blaine halted him. "Not so fast, Mac.
Word Of The Day