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Updated: May 18, 2025
Rounding on a heel, Blensop paused, head to one side, a slight frown shadowing his bland countenance, and stood briefly rooted in some perplexity of obscure origin. Twice he shook a peevish head, then smiled radiantly and brought his hands together in an audible clap. "I have it!" he cried in delight and, dancing briskly toward the desk, once more disappeared. Now what was this which Mr.
The servant advanced to the table and proffered a visiting card on a tray. Mr. Blensop took it, arched pencilled brows over it. "To see me, Walker?" "The gentleman asked for Colonel Stanistreet, sir." "H'm.... You may show him in when I ring." The footman retired. Mr. Blensop looked up brightly, bending the card with nervous fingers. "You were saying your business was...?"
The flowing gestures of this young man, his fluting accents, poetic eyes, and modestly ingratiating moustache, the preciosity of his taste in dress, assorted singularly with an austere devotion to duty rare if unaffected. Beyond question, whether or not naturally a man of studious and conscientious temper, Mr. Blensop figured to admiration in the role of such an one.
Ember, I believe?" he said in a voice studiously musical. "Yes," Lanyard replied, vaguely annoyed with himself because of an unreasoning resentment of this musical quality. "Mr. Blensop?" "I am Mr. Blensop," that one admitted gracefully. "And how may I have the pleasure of being of service?" He waved a hand toward an easy chair beside the table, and resumed his own. But Lanyard hesitated.
"Precisely," assented "Karl." "Proceed, Monsieur Duchemin." "It is an affair of some delicacy.... Do we speak alone, Colonel Stanistreet?" "Mr. Blensop is my confidential secretary...." "Oh, no objection. Still if I may venture the suggestion those windows open upon a garden, I take it?" "Yes. Blensop, be good enough to close the windows." "Certainly, sir."
From time to time he was to be seen stooping and inspecting the earth with the gravity of an earnest, efficient, sober-sided sleuth of the old school. Blensop was busy before the safe, extracting the contents of each pigeonhole in turn, thumbing its dockets of papers, checking each off upon a typewritten list several pages in length.
"Shot through the shoulder, that is all.... Schuyler nine, three hundred? Dr. Apthorp, please. This is Mr. Blensop speaking, secretary to Colonel Stanistreet.... Are you there, Dr. Apthorp?"
Stone had taken up the camera once more. His sole answer was a grunt upon which his hearers placed two distinct interpretations Lanyard's affording him considerable gratification. "If you're ready," said Stone "now" Mr. Blensop squinted unbecomingly and pressed the trigger. A vivid flare lifted from the pan of the pistol, and winked out in a cloud of vapour, slowly dissipating. "Is that all?"
Ember, I'll do my best to persuade Colonel Stanistreet " "I repeat, my business is of the most pressing nature. Can't you arrange for me to see your employer to-night?" "It is utterly impossible." Lanyard accepted defeat with a bow. "To-morrow at nine, then," he said, turning toward the door by which he had entered. "At nine," said Mr. Blensop, generous in triumph.
Almost instantly he recovered it, but not before Lanyard had read the name it bore. "Of course not," said the secretary pleasantly, rising. "But you understand my instructions are rigid ... I'm sorry." "You refuse me the appointment?" "Unless you can give me an inkling of your business or perhaps bring a letter of introduction." "I can do neither, Mr. Blensop," said Lanyard earnestly.
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