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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Yes!" he muttered, with a professional nod in his training as a journalist he had learnt a little of many sciences "yes, old Bodery was right." The gentle August night had cooled and soothed the dusty atmosphere. All things looked fair, even in London. The placid Thames glided stealthily down to the sea, as if wishing to speed on unseen, to cast at last his reeking waters into the cool ocean.
Upon the back there was a rim round the adhesive portion, and within this the glaze was gone from the paper. The envelope had been tampered with by a skilful manipulator. If Mr. Bodery had been in the habit of using inferior stationery, no trace would have been left upon the envelope. Christian slipped the letter into his pocket, and, glancing round, saw that his movements had passed unobserved.
"You will see at the foot this Mr. Vellacott's reason for not wiring to you direct. He wished my friend to be here before the printers got to work this morning; but owing to this unfortunate illness " "I am afraid you are too late, sir," interrupted Mr. Bodery briskly. "The press is at work "
Bodery read?" asked the Frenchman, holding out his hand. She hesitated for a moment. His position with regard to her was singular, his ascendency over her had never been tried. It was an unknown quantity; but the Vicomte d'Audierne knew his own power. "Let me look, little girl," he said quietly in French. She handed him the newspapers, still watching his face.
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