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Updated: June 4, 2025
"Wouldn't you call that a rummy sort for Temple Barholm?" he said to one of his fellows who had appeared in the hall near him. "It's not my sort," was the answer. "I'm going to give notice to old Butterworth." Hutchinson and Little Ann were waiting in the hall. Hutchinson was looking at the rich, shadowy spaces about him with a sort of proud satisfaction.
The young man from behind the counter in a Liverpool or Blackburn shop would probably have been frightened to death and afraid to open his mouth in self-revelation, whereas Temple Barholm was so entirely a bounder that he did not know he was one, and was ready to make an ass of himself to any extent.
He was out of the room and in again almost immediately. Then he was at the wardrobe and taking out what Mr. Temple Barholm called his "grip," but what Pearson knew as a Gladstone bag. It was always kept ready packed for unexpected emergencies of travel. Mr. Temple Barholm sat at the table and drew pen and paper toward him.
Little Ann drew her inside and closed the door. "There, Miss Temple Barholm," she said. "There now Just come in and sit down. I'll get you a good cup of tea. You need one." The Duke of Stone had been sufficiently occupied with one of his slighter attacks of rheumatic gout to have been, so to speak, out of the running in the past weeks.
Temple Barholm; but what on earth was his connection with the sea-shore and pebbles? When confronted with these baffling absurdities, Mr. Palford either said, "I beg pardon," or stiffened and remained silent. When Tembarom learned that he was the head of one of the oldest families in England, no aspect of the desirable dignity of his position reached him in the least.
If I may be so bold as to say it, Miss, whatever we don't understand, we both understand Mr. Temple Barholm. My instructions were to remind you, Miss, that everything would be all right." Miss Alicia took up her letter from the table where she had laid it down. "Thank you, Pearson," she said, her forehead beginning to clear itself a little. "Of course, of course.
His normal mental and physical structure kept him steady on his feet, and his practical and unsentimental training, combining itself with a touch of iron which centuries ago had expressed itself through some fighting Temple Barholm and a medium of battle-axes, crossbows, and spears, did the rest. "It'd take more than this to get me where I'd be down and out. I'm feeling fine," he said.
Temple Barholm took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at him with a slow, broadening smile. "Would you call me a gentleman, Pearson?" he asked. Of course there was no retrieving such a blunder, Pearson felt, but "Certainly, sir," he stammered. "Most most CERTAINLY, sir."
"I was only about to express my surprise that since he is aware of all this he has not told you who he has proved Strangeways to be. It is a little odd, you know." "I think " Miss Alicia was even gently firm in her reply "that you are a little mistaken in believing Mr. Temple Barholm has proved Mr. Strangeways to be anybody. When he has proof, he will no doubt think proper to tell me about it.
If Mr. Temple Barholm had not been so eccentric and bitter, everything would have been done for him; but as it was, he seemed to belong to no one. When he came to the vicarage it used to make me so happy. He used to call me Aunt Alicia, and he had such pretty ways." She hesitated and looked quite tenderly at the tea-pot, a sort of shyness in her face.
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