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Updated: May 18, 2025
For as long as thirty breathless seconds Lanyard remained in doubt; there was the barest chance that in his preoccupation Blensop might pass through to the garden without noticing that dark figure flattened against the inswung half of the window, in the dense shadow of the portiere.
"Anything of consequence turned up?" he enquired abstractedly, running through the sheets of pen-blackened paper. "Three persons called," Blensop admitted discreetly. "One returns at midnight." Stanistreet threw him a keen look. "Eh!" he said, making swift inference, and turned to his wife and sister-in-law. "It is nearly twelve now. Forgive me if I hurry you off." "Patience," said Mrs.
Systematically Lanyard searched the pigeonholes, emptying all but one, examining minutely their contents without finding that slender roll of paper. Mystified, he hesitated. The thing, of course, was somewhere there, only hidden more cunningly than he had hoped. It was possible, even probable, that Blensop had stowed the cylinder away in a secret compartment.
Itching with curiosity, Lanyard turned with infinite care and peered round the wing of the chair, thus gaining a view of the wall farthest from the street. Blensop remaining invisible, Lanyard's interest centred immediately upon the safe the ingenuity of whose concealment had excited "Karl's" favourable comment, and with much excuse.
Lanyard stood alone in the street, looking swiftly this way and that, his hand closing upon that little bunch of keys in his pocket, his humour lawless. For the name inscribed on that card which Mr. Blensop had so carelessly dropped was one to fill Lanyard with consuming anxiety for better acquaintance with its present wearer.
Here a civil footman answered the door and Lanyard's enquiries with the information that Colonel Stanistreet had unexpectedly been called out of town and would not return before evening of the next day, while his secretary, Mr. Blensop, had gone to a play and might not come home till all hours.
Stanistreet enquired, sitting down to con the papers more intently. "Oh!" Blensop laughed lightly. "I was merely repeating the blighter's own assertion. I mean to say, he boasted he was the Lone Wolf." "Who boasted he was the Lone Wolf?" "Chap who called to-night, giving the name of Duchemin Andre Duchemin. Had French passports, and letters from the Home Office recommending him rather highly.
At the same moment the door to the hallway opened, and two women entered, apparently sisters: one a lady of mature and distinguished charm, the other an equally prepossessing creature much her junior, the one strongly animated with intelligent interest in life, the other a listless prey to habitual ennui. To these fluttered Mr. Blensop, offering to relieve them of their wraps. "Permit me, Mrs.
"Colonel Stanistreet?" he called diffidently. "Yes, Mr. Stone?" "There's something here I'd like to consult you about, sir, if you can spare a minute." "Certainly." The Englishman rose. "If you will excuse me, Monsieur Duchemin...." Half way to the windows he hesitated. "By the bye, Blensop, I wish you'd call up Apthorp and ask after Howson's condition."
Stone patiently, "is to make the fingerprints stand out, so we can get a good likeness of 'em." He put the bottle aside, blinked at the safe approvingly, and by further exercise of powers of legerdemain materialized a pocket kodak and a flashlight pistol. "Can't I help you?" Blensop offered eagerly. "I used to be rather a dab at amateur photography, you know."
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