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Updated: May 20, 2025
Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of the best servant and the truest friend he had ever had. Now here was Henry's brother cropping up again.
"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along without his seeing me into the main-road and then down a turnin'..." "Laleham Villas," prompted Mr. Marigold. "I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me," said Barling, "what I wanted to find out was what he was up to! Presently he turned in at a gate.
They were to pay her the sum of eight dollars a week. A young man named Barling, clerk in a wholesale Market Street house, came next; and he introduced, soon after, a friend of his, a clerk in the same store, named Mason. They were room-mates, and paid three dollars and a half each.
Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier. "So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking to himself, "ah! this is getting interesting!" "Yes," said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my assistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what you are!"
"Henry's been out with him twice to the theatre already." "I'm afraid of his influence over Henry. He's not the kind of a companion he ought to choose," said Edith. "And then Mr. Barling is with Miriam in the parlour almost every evening. He asks her to sing, and she says she doesn't like to refuse." The mother sighed deeply. While they were conversing, a servant came to their room to say that Mr.
"You hav'n't done it to-day certainly," answered Barling. "Will you wait here a quarter of an hour?" asked Henry. "For what?" "I want to pay you off and begin again. I am going for some money." "Yes, I'll wait," replied the young man. "Very well. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Gunner Barling... the name conjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very spick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professional army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history books for all time.
Marigold found him surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's account of his failure to trace Barling. "Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have it!"
"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away, "I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the Hohenlinden trench." Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look of intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice Strangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke straight at Strangwise.
Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "May Gunner Barling tell his story, sir?" "By all means," replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But first let this fellow be removed." And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of Bellward. "Is he dead" asked Desmond. The Chief shook his head.
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