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Updated: June 12, 2025
The Bishops had been voted out of the House of Parliament, and some upon that occasion sent to the Tower; which made many Covenanters rejoice, and believe Mr. Brightman who probably was a good and well-meaning man to be inspired in his "Comment on the Apocalypse," an abridgment of which was now printed, and called Mr. Brightman's "Revelation of the Revelation."
Besides that," he added, dropping his voice, "there is the one most important thing of all, but of which as yet no one has spoken, and of which I dare scarcely speak even to you." "Is it in the shape of a drawing?" Brightman asked. "It is not," was the whispered reply. "It is a letter, written by the greatest man in one of the greatest countries in the world, to the greatest personage in Europe.
He signed the contract, told me he was sorry he had been so hasty, and when I left them he was trying to pacify Mr. Derham. On another occasion, Mr. Brightman, of Brightman & Smart, a dignified gentleman at that time acting as consul for the Netherlands, called at the office.
We know how he has spent every second of his time since we first took up the search, and I can assure you that there is not a single suspicious incident recorded against him." "You are satisfied," Mr. Brown asked, "with the aid which you are getting from Scotland Yard?" "Absolutely," Crawshay declared. "Brightman, too the man who came down with me from Liverpool has done excellent work."
"I gambled upon it that no one would think of searching the curtains of the music hall box in which Gant and I spent apparently a jovial evening. No one did until it was too late. Then I felt perfectly certain that both you and Brightman would believe I was trying to get hold of Richard Beverley. The poor fellow thought so himself for some time."
"I shall mind every moment that you are away," Crawshay replied, "but I can pass the time. I will telephone and have a cocktail." She leaned towards him. "I can guess whom you are going to telephone to." "Perhaps but not what I am going to say." "You are going to telephone to that chap with the dark moustache Brightman, isn't it? I can hear you on the wire.
The City of Boston docked in Liverpool on Sunday night. On Tuesday, at five o'clock in the afternoon, Crawshay, who had been waiting at Euston Station for a quarter of an hour or so, almost dragged Brightman out of the long train which drew slowly into the station. "We'll take a taxi somewhere," the former said. "It's the safest place to talk in. Any other luggage?"
"Quite sure, sir," was the prompt reply. "I am acquainted with one of the head waiters here, and I understand that two gentlemen are expected." "Anything else?" "Nothing, sir. Miss Beverley sent away two parcels this afternoon, which were searched downstairs. They were quite unimportant." "I shall expect to hear from you again," Brightman directed, "within half an hour.
It appeared he had made a sale which he regretted and he called to have it cancelled, claiming that he had been induced to make the sale through the alleged misrepresentation by Mr. Thomas Derham, of certain features of the market. The argument became heated and Brightman called Thomas a liar.
If the third person is a stranger, try and find out his name." "I'll manage that all right, Mr. Brightman. The young lady has just come down. I'll be getting back into the lounge." Brightman turned around to Crawshay, who was in the act of shaking the cocktails. "A third party," he observed. "Interesting," Crawshay declared, "very interesting! Perhaps the intermediary.
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