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Updated: May 23, 2025
Berwin won't have a servant to live under his roof, and Mrs. Kebby, who does his charing, says he drinks awful. Then he has his meals sent in from the Nelson Hotel round the corner, and eats them all alone. He don't receive no letters, he don't read no newspapers, and stays in all day, only coming out at night, like an owl. If he ain't a criminal, Mr. Denzil, why does he carry on so?"
The deceased, said the landlord, had paid a month's rent in advance in ready money, and at the end of every month he had discharged his liability in the same way. He gave neither cheque nor notes, but paid always in gold; and beyond the fact that he called himself Mark Berwin, the landlord knew nothing about him.
"By his assumption of the name of Berwin, which was mentioned in the advertisement; also from the description of the body, and particularly by the mention of the cicatrice on the right cheek, and of the loss of the little finger of the left hand." Diana started. "I never heard that about the little finger," she said hurriedly. "Are you sure?" "Yes.
At once the light was put out, and as I could attract no one to the door, I suppose the man and woman must have fled." For a moment or so Berwin said nothing, but his grip on Lucian's arm relaxed, and he moved forward a few steps. "You must be mistaken, Mr. Denzil," said he in altered tones, "there can be no person in my house.
I chose Clear because he was like Vrain. I made the scar on the cheek, and I thought he would die soon, being consumptive." "And you killed him?" "No! No! I swear I did not kill him!" "Did you not take that stiletto from Berwin Manor?" "No! I never did! I am telling the truth! I do not know who killed Clear." "Did you not visit Wrent in Jersey Street?" "Yes.
"How do you know the dagger was a real one?" replied Miss Greeb, sinking her voice to a horrified whisper. "Was it ever seen? No! Was it ever found? No! The ghost took it away. Depend upon it, Mr. Denzil, it wasn't flesh and blood as made a spirit of that crazy Berwin." "In that case, the ghostly criminal can't be hanged," said Denzil, with a laugh. "But it's all nonsense, Miss Greeb.
At the entrance of Geneva Square he ran against a man whom he recognised in the clear moonlight. To his surprise he beheld Mark Berwin. "Mr. Berwin!" cried Lucian, recognising the man. "Is it you?" "Who else should it be?" replied Berwin, bending forward to see who had jostled him. "Who else should it be, Mr. Denzil?"
"It will set your mind at rest regarding the shadows on the blind." "I can trust my eyes," said Lucian, drily, "and I am certain that before I met you a man and a woman were in this room." "Well," said Berwin, lighting a small lamp, "come with me and I'll prove that you are mistaken."
The computer's decision was even quicker this time. Berwin tossed Alan's side of the courtroom a black look and yielded ground. Alan had engaged a lawyer recommended once by Hawkes, a man named Jesperson. Briefly and concisely Jesperson cited Alan's claim to the money, read the terms of the will, and stepped back.
"Every one that I knew was civil to him; he had no one who wanted to kill him when he left Berwin Manor. Why he went away, or how he died, I can't say." "If you want to know how he died," explained Link, "I can tell you. He was stabbed." "So the journals said; with a bowie!" "No, not with a bowie," corrected Lucian, "but with some long, sharp instrument." "A dagger?" suggested Clyne.
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