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Updated: June 11, 2025
Their eyes were starting out of their sockets; their faces were turning purple or was it the firelight? Men's faces could not look like that not while the men lived. They gasped now; they did not breathe. One of Brodie's hands came away hastily. He began battering at King's face, battering like a steam-piston. The blows sounded loudly; blood broke out under the terrific pounding.
About this time his gloom was deepened by the discovery that a tin labelled mixed biscuits, which he had noticed in Brodie's locker, was empty. He thought he would go for a stroll. It would be beastly, of course, but not so beastly as sitting in the junior day-room. It is just here that the tragedy begins to deepen. Passing out of Seymour's gate he met Brooke, of Appleby's.
As matters stood now there was no telling what bearing Gratton's and Brodie's actions might have later upon his own affairs. It would be well to note if the men were preparing to fight the storm out or to pack up and leave rather than take prolonged chances with the season.
The silence lasted so long that Gloria began to breathe again. Surely, surely Brodie and his men had gone Then again came Brodie's deep, sinister voice: "Back this way, boys," he shouted. "He's gone in here. We've trapped the dirty white rat." Gloria and Gratton clung to each other, too terrified to move.
Many stories are told of this redoubtable Edinburgh burglar, but the one I have in my mind most vividly gives the key of all the rest. A friend of Brodie's, nested some way towards heaven in one of these great lands, had told him of a projected visit to the country, and afterwards, detained by some affairs, put it off and stayed the night in town.
But by now the brief stupor that had locked the other men in staring inaction was gone. Gloria saw figures leaping forward; she knew that Brodie's hands had relinquished her; she saw Brodie bearing down on King, roaring inarticulately as he went; she saw Benny and Jarrold and the Italian bearing down upon him; King was in the midst of all that.
For Mark King knew that it was inevitable that his path and Swen Brodie's should run closer and closer; that trails made by two men like King and Brodie could never converge harmoniously; that there was too much at stake; that it was well to be ready for Brodie in an ugly mood in an encounter so far removed from the habitations of men that a deed done would pass without human commentary.
This admits of no delay. My kind respects to Grand papa and allways believe me, Dr. Sir, 'Your sincere and affte. friend 'To Mr. William Blair, at Mr. Brodie's in Lille Street, Near Leister fields London. The following letter of November 4 is apparently to Henry Pelham. If Charles was in Berlin, as Pickle says here, about August 1752, the Stuart Papers throw no light on the matter.
'The man who draws the long one, gets the east half, and the short one the west. Brodie drew the long bit of stick and Auld the short. It was agreed to raise Brodie's shanty first, as he had young children, and the Aulds could stay with them until their own shanty was ready. Brodie selected the spot for his home, and we began at once to cut the trees that stood upon it.
She sought to hear their words, to read the looks on their faces. But she caught only a monotonous mutter, unintelligible but evil, and saw only the bottle passing from one to the other. Brodie finished it and hurled it from him so that it broke noisily. A few times she heard them laugh; she could distinguish Brodie's throaty, bull tone and Benny's nervous cackle.
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