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Updated: May 18, 2025
Nor was wounded amour-propre mended by an exclamation in the room behind his chair, the accents of Colonel Stanistreet thick with contempt: "The Lone Wolf! Faugh!" Presently Blensop came back, closed the window, and passed blindly by Lanyard, his reappearance saluted by Stanistreet in tones that shook with contained temper. "You saw that animal outside the walls?"
"My secretary," Stanistreet explained, "was present at the interview, and is naturally interested." "And very good of him, I'm sure," Lanyard agreed. "I was about to explain, Mr. Blensop, that Ekstrom, alias Anderson, was killed in the course of a raid on the Prussian spy headquarters in Seventy-ninth Street this morning." "Amazing!" Blensop gasped.
"Very good, sir," Blensop intoned cheerfully. "And do it without delay, please. I don't like to think of the poor fellow suffering." "Immediately, sir." As his employer passed out into the garden with Stone, the secretary discontinued his checking and came over to the desk, drawing up a chair and sitting down to telephone. At the same time Lanyard got up and began to pace thoughtfully to and fro.
One of the sashes was thrown back roughly, and a figure clad in the gray livery of a private watchman parted the portieres and entered the library. "Everything all right in here, Mr. Blensop?" Lanyard saw the sheen of blue steel in the hands of "Karl," and leaped too late: even as he fell upon the spy's shoulders, the pistol exploded.
"It's just as well," Blensop added to his caller. "You understand, my clear fellow ?" "Assuredly." The man got up; but Blensop contrived exasperatingly to keep between him and the windows. "I'm to be back at midnight?" "Twelve sharp; you'll be sure to find him here then. Mind leaving by this emergency exit?" "Not in the least." "Then good-night, my dear Monsieur Duchemin!"
Three paces from the windows, Mr. Blensop made it plain that he was after all not minded to stroll in the garden. Pausing, he swung a high-backed wing chair round to face the corner of the room, switched on a reading lamp, sat down and selected a volume of some work of reference from the well-stocked book shelves.
"Colonel Stanistreet, sir. But when I said he was not at home, she asked to see his secretary." "Any idea what she wants?" "She didn't say, sir but she seemed much distressed." "They always are. H'm.... Young and good-looking?" "Quite, sir." "Dessay I may as well see her," said Mr. Blensop wearily. "Show her in when I ring." Walker shut himself out of the room.
One of the portraits that upon whose merits Blensop had descanted to "Karl" earlier in the night was, Lanyard saw, so mounted upon a solid panel of wood that, by means of hidden mechanism, it could be moved sidelong from its frame, uncovering the face of a safe built into the wall.
For in his fury he was trembling so that he feared lest his agitation betray him. The very walls before his eyes seemed to quake in sympathy. He was aware of the ache of swollen veins in his temples, his teeth hurt with the pressure put upon them, his breath came heavily, and his nails were digging painfully into his palms. "Blensop?" "Sir?" "How much have we on hand, in the emergency fund?"
That document had not been in the safe when Lanyard had opened it at midnight. After a moment Mr. Blensop uttered a musical note of vexation. The lead of his pencil had broken. He threw it pettishly aside, came over to the desk, took up a penholder, dipped it in the ink-well, and returned to his task. Colonel Stanistreet put down the last of the papers and slapped his hand upon it resoundingly.
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