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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Jocelyn Thew is staying there, and you may be able to keep an eye on him. Here we are. Taxi? Savoy! Now, Brightman." "You don't want me to make a long story of it, sir," Brightman observed, as they drove off. "Just the things that count, that's all."
I am convinced that the first idea was to get these documents off the ship upon the person of Phillips, if alive, or in his coffin if dead. The instigators of this abominable conspiracy have taken fright and have made you their victim. Certainly," he went on, "it was a shrewd idea. I myself suggested to Brightman that your things might remain undisturbed.
"What news, Henshaw?" the latter enquired. "Miss Beverley dines at her usual table, sir, at eight o'clock," was the reply. "The table is set for three." "For three?" Brightman exclaimed. "For three?" Crawshay echoed, turning from the sideboard, where he had been in the act of mixing some cocktails. "You are quite sure the third place isn't a mistake?" Brightman asked.
Brightman was always ambitious," the newcomer observed, with gentle satire. "He is, I am sure, a most persevering and intelligent member of his profession, but he flies high." "I am much obliged for your commendation," Brightman said bluntly. "As regards professions, I was just explaining to Mr. Crawshay that you were almost at the top of the tree in yours."
"Just as you like," she acquiesced coolly. "You will find nothing but bills there." Brightman tore open the envelope and glanced inside as though he did not intend further to disturb it. Suddenly his face changed. He shook out the contents upon the little table. They all three looked at the pile of papers with varying expressions.
Brightman and Crawshay arrived together, and made their way at once to the manager's office, the former noticing, with a little glint of recognition which amounted to scarcely more than a droop of the eyes, two or three sturdy looking men who had the appearance of being a little unused to their evening clothes, and who were loitering about in the vestibule.
I am afraid that we must insist upon your acceding to our request." Then followed a few seconds' most wonderful pandemonium. Jocelyn Thew's efforts seemed of the slightest, yet Mr. Brightman lay on his back upon the floor, and his stalwart companion, although he himself was not ignorant of Oriental arts, lay on his side for a moment, helpless. Richard, if not so subtle, was equally successful.
"Well, have you come to pronounce sentence upon me?" she asked. "Our authority scarcely goes so far," Brightman replied. "I am going on shore now, Miss Beverley, to fetch the consul of the country to which this packet is addressed. It will be opened in his presence. In the meantime, Mr. Crawshay has given his parole for you.
"Here's hell to Jocelyn Thew, anyway!" he exclaimed, with a note of real feeling in his tone. "If I thought," Brightman declared, "that drinking that toast would bring him any nearer to it, I should become a confirmed drunkard. As it is, sir my congratulations! A very excellent mixture!" He set down his glass empty and Crawshay turned away to light a cigarette.
Richard glanced at the man seated opposite to him a great strong fellow who was obviously now prepared for any surprise; at Brightman, who, lithe and tense, seemed watching his every movement; at the little revolver which Crawshay, although he kept it out of sight, was still holding. "Seems to me I'm up against it," he muttered.
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