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Updated: June 16, 2025
To Kirkwood's intense disgust Brentwick quietly slipped one hand beneath the table and, placing the revolver on its top, delicately with his finger-tips shoved it toward the farther edge. With a grunt of approval, Calendar swept the weapon up and into his pocket. "Any more ordnance?" he inquired briskly, eyes moving alertly from face to face. "No matter; you wouldn't dare use 'em anyway.
But before the words were fairly out of his mouth a footfall sounded in the corridor, a hand was placed upon the shoulder of the page, gently but with decision swinging him out of the way, and a man stepped into the room. "Mr. Brentwick!" Kirkwood almost shouted, jumping forward to seize his visitor's hand. "My dear boy!" replied the latter. "I'm delighted to see you.
Later, we will find a way to Chiltern." Again he put a hand upon the bell-pull. Simultaneously Dorothy and Kirkwood rose. "Mr. Brentwick," said the girl, her eyes starred with tears of gratitude, "I don't, I really don't know how "
Brentwick was a man of tallish figure and rather slender; with a countenance thin and flushed a sensitive pink, out of which his eyes shone, keen, alert, humorous, and a trace wistful behind his glasses. His years were indeterminate; with the aspect of fifty, the spirit and the verve of thirty assorted oddly.
"No! an incarnation of the Providence that watches over children and fools." Brentwick dropped a calming hand upon his shoulder. "Your simile seems singularly happy, Philip. Permit me to suggest that you join the child in my study." He laughed quietly, with a slight nod toward an open door at the end of the hallway. "For myself, I'll be with you in one moment."
"And that," he said, looking up from his savory, "is about all." "Bravo!" applauded Brentwick; eyes shining with delight. "All," interposed Dorothy in warm reproach, "but what he hasn't told " "Which, my dear, is to be accounted for wholly by a very creditable modesty, rarely encountered in the young men of the present day. It was, of course, altogether different with those of my younger years.
As Brentwick spoke, Calendar's corpulent figure filled the doorway; Stryker's weather-worn features loomed over his shoulder, distorted in a cheerful leer. "As to the jewels," announced the fat adventurer, "I've got a word to say, if you put it to me that way."
He repeated the word softly a number of times, to get the exact flavor of it, and found it little to his taste. And yet... He thrust both hands deep in his trouser pockets and stared purposelessly into space, twisting his eyebrows out of alignment and crookedly protruding his lower lip. If Brentwick were only in town But he wasn't, and wouldn't be, within the week.
"The painting can wait," reiterated Kirkwood. "I can work like other men." "You can do yourself and your genius grave injustice. And I fear me you will, dear boy. It's in keeping with your heritage of American obstinacy. Now if it were a question of money " "Mr. Brentwick!" Kirkwood protested vehemently. "I've ample for my present needs," he added. "Of course," conceded Brentwick with a sigh.
"He ran us to the last ditch," Kirkwood continued; "I've spent my last farthing trying to lose him." "But why have you not caused his arrest?" Brentwick inquired. Kirkwood nodded meaningly toward the girl. Brentwick made a sound indicating comprehension, a click of the tongue behind closed teeth. "We came to your door by the merest accident it might as well have been another.
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