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"I thought," said Old Bryson, showing as much interest as a bee shows in a vinegar cruet, "that the late Septimus Gillian was worth something like half a million." "He was," assented Gillian, joyously, "and that's where the joke comes in. He's left his whole cargo of doubloons to a microbe.

He was in a corner reading a book, and when he saw Gillian approaching he sighed, laid down his book and took off his glasses. "Old Bryson, wake up," said Gillian. "I've a funny story to tell you." "I wish you would tell it to some one in the billiard room," said Old Bryson. "You know how I hate your stories."

"I told the bartender it was in a good cause, and he believed me. You wait here, now. I want to talk to that Bryson man about your brother's debts, and then we'll spirit him out to the spaceport and dump him aboard the Valhalla before he wakes up." Alan grinned.

The Bryson people keep a good eye on me, too. There's a Bryson man three booths up who follows me around. If they ever saw me going near the spacefield they'd be pretty sure to cut me off and ask for their money. You can't welsh on Bryson." "Suppose it was arranged that your debts be cancelled," Hawkes said speculatively. Steve shook his head. "No. I don't want charity.

Anyway, he certainly didn't know I was part of the group," Hollis said. "Old man Bryson was laying off some bets with me and he let something slip about how he tipped the police to Max. Then he told me the whole thing." "And Kovak?" "Dead," Hollis said bluntly. "Bryson must have figured that if he'd sell Max out he'd sell anybody out, so Kovak got taken care of. He was found yesterday.

At 10.45, after a cup of cocoa, he would go over to the hospital, returning at 1 o'clock to dinner. This over, he would go back with my brother to see the in-patients. At 4.30 we would all have tea together, after which he would make calls, or go for a walk, or talk over committee matters with Mr. Lees or Mr. Bryson.

Jenny Bryson, in Suzanna's class, bragged of her father's financial condition, and indeed she was a resplendent advertisement of his success. Suzanna listened interestedly. She gazed with admiration at the velvet dress, the gold ring, and the pearl neck beads. She loved them all the smoothness of the velvet, the sparkle of the gold, the soft luster of the pearls. But she felt no envy.

"Let me go to my husband! Oh, dear Mr. Bryson, let me go at once!" They led her to the door. The jailer admitted her and closed it again. She was in her husband's prison-cell. Her arms were around his neck, her tears, her kisses raining on his face. "Oh, my darling, my darling! my life, my love, my husband!" "Harriet!" With a great cry he rose and held her to his heart. "My wife, my wife!"

He sprung up in bed, electrified. "Speak!" he gasped. "Oh, for God's sake " "Your wife is alive!" There was a simultaneous cry. Mr. Bryson hurried on rapidly: "Sybilla Silver stabbed her, and threw her over upon the shore. Mr. Parmalee picked her up not dead, but badly wounded took her on board a vessel took her finally to America. Sybilla Silver deceived your poor wife as she deceived us all.

That night at a few minutes of ten they were standing on the steps of the entrance to the Bryson block when Murphy, his peaked cap pulled down far over his eyes and his coat collar turned up close around his throat, sidled up to them. "What's the big idea of covering up your face, Murphy?" asked Brennan. "I'm takin' no chances of gettin' 'made, see?" Murphy answered.