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Updated: June 1, 2025
Friday morning came, and at ten-thirty exactly, not a minute before or after, Mr. Abel Cumshaw knocked at the front door and was admitted. He was shown at once into Mr. Bryce's study, where that gentleman awaited him, watch in hand. "On time to the tick," he said affably as Cumshaw entered the room. "Everything's ready for an immediate start. I suppose you've got all you want."
At the sound of Bryce's voice, Shirley raised her head, whirled and looked up at him. He held his handkerchief over his gory face that the sight might not distress her; he could have whooped with delight at the joy that flashed through her wet lids. "Bryce Cardigan," she commanded sternly, "come down here this instant." "I'm not a pretty sight, Shirley. Better let me go about my business."
For the history of the South since the war and the present position of the negroes, see the chapters on this subject in Bryce's "American Commonwealth," second or any later edition, two volumes: Macmillan, London and New York. Mr.
By far the ablest and most thorough book on the government of the United States that has ever been published is Bryce's American Commonwealth, 2 vols., London and N.Y., 1888. No American citizen's education is properly completed until he has read the whole of it carefully. In connection therewith, the work of Tocqueville, Democracy in America, 2 vols., 6th ed., Boston, 1876, is interesting.
In Bryce's opinion, it was something of a wild-goose chase to go there, but the similarity in the name of the village and of the dead man at Wrychester might have its significance, and it was but a two miles' stroll from Barthorpe. He found Braden Medworth a very small, quiet, and picturesque place, with an old church on the banks of a river which promised good sport to anglers.
"Nowhere! strolling round," answered Bryce. "No particular purpose, why?" "You weren't going in there?" asked Dick, jerking a thumb towards Paradise. "In there!" exclaimed Bryce. "Good Lord, no! dreary enough in the daytime! What should I be going in there for?" Dick seized Bryce's coat-sleeve and dragged him aside. "I say!" he whispered. "There's something up in there a search of some sort!"
A mile or two away from the station we turned into a private drive, which, mounting a parklike slope, with dark pines for its fringes, brought us to Lloyd Bryce's house. It was a house of true Georgian pattern a central block with two symmetrical wings. Its red bricks might have been fading there for a couple of hundred years. Indoors there was the same quiet simplicity.
I never heard that he was if he is, he's kept it strangely quiet. You'd have thought that he'd have let us know, here, of his previous calling I never heard of a policeman of any rank who didn't like to have a bit of talk with his own sort about professional matters." "Nor me," assented Jettison. "And as you say, we've only Bryce's word.
On the top log of the load the object of her unhappy speculations was seated, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that he was back once more in the haunt of his enemies, although knowledge that the double-bitted axe he had so unceremoniously borrowed of Colonel Pennington was driven deep into the log beside him, with the haft convenient to his hand, probably had much to do with Bryce's air of detached indifference.
Tully, John Cardigan's old housekeeper, and almost a mother to Bryce. "Oh, here's my boy!" she cried, and a moment later found herself encircled by Bryce's arms and saluted with a hearty kiss. As he stepped into the familiar entrance-hall, Bryce paused, raised his head and sniffed suspiciously, like a bird-dog. Mrs. Tully, arms akimbo, watched him pleasurably.
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