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Updated: June 24, 2025
"In what circumstances?" "It is rather a strange story," replied Mr. Brimsdown slowly. "I should like to hear it then. It may throw some light on this letter." "Let us go into the other room." Mr. Brimsdown made this suggestion with a quick glance at his departed client on the bed, as though he feared some sardonic reproof from those grey immobile lips.
I must ask him." "It is a terrible and ghastly crime," said Mr. Brimsdown, in an effort to turn the mind of his companion in another direction. "There is something about it that I do not understand some deep mystery which has not yet been fathomed. Was it really his daughter? If so, how did she escape from the room and leave the door locked inside? Escape from these windows is plainly impossible."
"That I cannot tell you." Another question was in Mr. Brimsdown's mind, but the young man's haggard face, the mingled misery and expectation of his glance, checked the utterance of it. He had the idea that Charles's manner suggested something more some revelation yet to come. But the young man did not speak. "Is this all you wanted to show me?" Mr. Brimsdown hinted. "Is it not enough?"
"There's a smear of blood on the dial," said Barrant, staring at it. "Was that made by the right or left hand?" "The right hand was resting on the clock-face. Why do you ask?" Mr. Brimsdown hesitated, then said: "The thought has occurred to me that Robert Turold may have gone to the clock for a different purpose not for papers.
Anthony Brimsdown suffered it to pass unnoticed. As an elderly bachelor, living alone, he was sufficiently master of his own affairs to disregard the arrival of the last post, leaving the letters as they were tumbled through the slit in the door downstairs until he felt inclined to go and get them.
Brimsdown regretted afterwards that he made no effort to gain his confidence. He felt that if he had done so events might have taken a different course. But it is difficult to bring youth and age together. Youth sometimes yields to impulse, but not age. The lurking devil of self-consciousness whispers caution as the safer quality. Mr.
"What do you want to know?" "Was your master's daughter here in the house, I mean on the night of his death?" Thalassa's face hardened. "You, too?" he said simply. "I say again, as I said before, that she was not." "You said so," rejoined Mr. Brimsdown softly. "The question is are you telling the truth?
I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but I must say that much, whether Sisily had anything to do with Robert's death or not, for, of course, Robert couldn't have known about that at the time when he made his will, I mean," concluded Mrs. Pendleton, in some confusion of mind. "It is strange that your brother did not consult me before drawing up this will," said Mr. Brimsdown.
He had never remotely connected Charles Turold with the murder until Mr. Brimsdown had imparted Mrs. Brierly's disclosure to him. He had acted promptly enough on that piece of information, but once again he was too late. Austin Turold might have felt reassured if he had known how little his share in the events of that night occupied Barrant's mind during their last interview.
"Then you intend to arrest her?" "Yes." "Do you know where she is?" A quick consideration of this question led Barrant to the conclusion that it would do no harm to let the lawyer know the scanty truth. "She is in London. I have traced her to Paddington." Mr. Brimsdown decided that, as the detective knew that much, it absolved him from any obligation to betray the daughter of his dead client.
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